


Rebels of the Underground

by PinkSugarCrystal



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Canon Breaking, Clone Wars, Cyborgs, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force-Sensitive, Loneliness, Lust, Military, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Partnership, Political Alliances, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, Separatist, Separatist Politics, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sexuality, Sith, Tension, War, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 61,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkSugarCrystal/pseuds/PinkSugarCrystal
Summary: While fighting tooth and nail across the galaxy to avenge her master and for the dangerous, underground political world of the Separatists, Sith assassin Asajj Ventress discovers she and her "colleague", a cyborg by the name of General Grievous, must maintain a secret relationship to share their ideas, philosophies, and their need for each other.Rated E for Explicit Sexual Content, Foul Language, Violence, Nudity, Innuendo, and Brief Drug and Alcohol Consumption.This story can also be found on Fanfiction.net.





	1. The Separatist Meeting

REBELS OF THE UNDERGROUND

Author note: This story BREAKS ESTABLISHED CANON. The reason for this was because I was terribly disappointed with the 2008-2015 animated clone wars. I feel like it was mostly a black vs. white battle instead of exploring the motives of both sides. I wholeheartedly believe that each side had its flaws, and the character development was non-existent. I am going to try to explore the motives of the Separatists and the Sith, as well as developing two of the most underrated and underdeveloped characters in the Star Wars universe. Yes, I will be following some canon, but expect a lot of leeway in this fic. I hope you all enjoy. This will be a multiple chapter story, so it’s going to get updated quite a bit.

This story follows events mainly from Clone Wars (2003 version) and other mediums that heavily discusses the Clone Wars without making the CIS look like a bunch of cowardly, malevolent scum. In fact—surprisingly enough—some of these mediums even show the Confederacy in a more pragmatic, multi-faceted light. The more you read the obscure graphic novels and *confirmed* wikialore behind it, the more you realize that the CIS legitimately had some VERY valid arguments to be at war with the Republic, which had stooped to corruption so low hundreds of thousands if not millions were being enslaved and starved without the council even batting an eye. The reason these mediums are not well-known is because well, most people would rather see the Republic as the shining white light that always wins because they’re good and the CIS are “evil”…as well as the justification for the Republic killing the millions of people who pledged support to it because the Confederacy actually offered to help them after the Republic ignored their pleas for help in extremely difficult times. These mediums discussing the topics in lurid, unbiased detail and also tend to be very dark and complex, which the new Clone Wars series lacks in both regards.

I will not only be exploring and writing about the unorthodox relationship between General Grievous and Asajj Ventress, but about the structures and the intertwining that exists within the Confederacy, to examine its complexity, inner conflicts, politics, leaders, actions and the reasonings behind them, and the idiosyncrasies of its authoritarian individuals. This story is rated a “hard” M for violence, profanity, and pervasive sexual content in later chapters.  
With this verbose author’s note out of the way…I hope you enjoy the story! Feel free to leave a review or any feedback as long as its not vitriolic. I like criticism, not trolls.

 

Chapter 1~The Separatist Meeting  
Asajj Ventress had her fingers clasping together firmly, her right leg bobbing up and down impatiently. The lightsaber trainee and CIS commander of the army was currently sitting with a group of Separatist senators, intergalactic banking and trading chairmen, and assorted officers, including the wealthy and materialistic Neimoidian viceroy Nute Gunray and his assistant, Rune Haako, who were taking the avid pleasure of whispering to each other, pointing to the others in rapid quick motions and giving soft, patronizing chortles. She clenched her hands into fists. How she despised them and loathed them! It was then they decided to play their game on her she shot a venomous look at them, causing Rune to gulp silently and turn away. Nute quickly dashed his glance to his chest and inspected his attire.  
The other individuals in the room were minding themselves, occasionally whispering questions to each other, glancing around the beautifully decorated room, and taking notes on their datapads. Ventress didn’t mind the others. At least they mainly reserved to themselves and kept their materialistic desires in their head, other than showing a little bit of it on their attire.   
They were all sitting at table shaped like half a circle in a large, blue room at one of Dooku’s large estates on the planet of Geonosis, which was a sandy dust ball of a planet on its own. When departing from the shuttle they had all been escorted on, Ventress overheard the viceroy complaining about the dirt collecting on the bottom of his gown. While sand didn’t bother Ventress a bit, she was distraught for a very different reason. Why were they here? What business had to bet dealt with on this almost desolate planet inhabited by intelligent insects? Why did Dooku want to meet here, of all places? Wondering if she had not gotten the full message, she turned to the male Muun sitting next to her, an Intergalactic banking chairman named San Hill. Feeling her stare, he turned and looked at her almost graciously. As he did so, Ventress caught Rune Haako from the other end of the table leaning forward and looking almost entertained by the spectacle.  
“San,” she spoke quietly and almost cautiously. “Did Dooku give you any info on why we’re meeting here?”   
San Hill only shook his head, however his almost sordid expression turned upward into a smile. “I do not. I was only informed there was going to be a big meeting on Geonosis from a message sent by the Count. I wasn’t expecting there to be many others that were invited.”  
Ventress suddenly felt insecure. “I hope this isn’t some kind of trap.”  
Her response was a peal of laughter from the Muun. Leaning back in her chair, embarrassed, the humongous white, double-doors of the room suddenly opened and in strode Count Dooku, Lord of the Sith and the leader of the Confederacy of Independent Systems. At once, she and the others stood and bowed before him before he made a sign with his hand for them all to sit down. They promptly did so, and he began to speak.  
“I’m sure you are all wondering why you are all here today,” the voice of the elder Count spoke. “I didn’t make it quite clear why there is a meeting being held on a planet in the Outer Rim. I’m sure some of you haven’t even heard of this planet before.” His glance turned to Asajj before he continued with his speech.  
“You think!?” Nute suddenly burst. “T’is planet is out of our way! T’ere better be a good enough reason why you had us go t’rough hell to get to this…this…ball of dirt!” Ventress shot a glare in his direction. Dooku reciprocated.   
“Maybe if you be patient with me and not interrupt me when I’ve just begun, you will soon know your answer,” the Count almost hissed before continuing.  
“As I was saying, I am all thankful you could make it. Most gracious indeed, as this is very important and it is because of this meeting I may present to you all something that has taken a long while of planning and constructing.” There was a harsh whisper before a somebody shushed it.  
Ventress was no longer leaning back, now eager for what was to come. What is he talking about? Was he hiding something from us? She thought quickly before he was soon looking at her again…or was it Hill he was looking at? Either way, he was now showing a rare smile.  
“As you may know, there is, other than commander Asajj Ventress, an official leader of our army of Neimoidian gunners and our Seperatist droid army. You, Ventress, have and still are a capable leader. However, I surmise it is rather difficult to manage so many mortals and machines at once?” The last statement ended up being a question, and he was waiting for her reply.  
“Erm—yes my lord, I must freely admit it is. It is hard to offer guidance to the gunners and lead the droids at once. It is because of this I have had more casualties than I would have liked.” It was odd being so open in front of not of the Count, but in front of many senators and chairmen as well. She kept her composure, and Dooku was surprisingly nonchalant about her bold statement.  
He nodded. “Hm. Yes, I thought so.” He took a couple strides to the left and made his voice more loud and bolder for the others to hear. “I understand that we cannot rely on just one commander to be able to manage officers, admirals, and soldiers both flesh and blood and metal while continuing to be my trainee.” He almost nodded as if agreeing with himself. “She is capable, yet it is unrealistic to put so much pressure on a young woman.” His smile was now almost broadening, and then he took more strides to the left.   
“That is why, Ventress and the rest, I have been excited for this meeting to happen. No more, commander, shall you have to strain and worry about being the only leader of these fantastic armies. I, with the help of the fine craftwork and engineering capabilities of the Geonosians, created an individual that will be not only a powerful leader with awesome and rippling power, but a great adversary of the Jedi council.” He lifted his hand up in the air, as if presenting something magnificent.  
“Grievous,” he said, momentously. “You may come in now.”  
Before Ventress could ponder over the name any more, the door opened and the owner of the name strode in and looked around, curiously. Ventress and the other couldn’t help but look at him both in shock and awe.  
It—no, he stood an inch over seven feet, his legs long and spindly. Covered in Duranium plating and possessing a very skeletal look to him, this “Grievous” fellow was frightening and rippling with power. Ventress thought for a moment she was looking at a unique, atypical droid, until she saw a pair of beautiful golden eyes surrounded by reddish flesh peering out of what looked like a warrior mask. A cyborg, she realized. That thing—no he, is a cyborg. If one glance was taken at Grievous, he could have very well been dismissed as an “it”, but upon further examining, this was not the case. She could make out his well-sculpted, large pectorals and the faint details of what was a chiseled abdomen. A very slender, chiseled abdomen at that. In fact, the boy looked quite feminine in some aspects, with its slightly curved hips and slender thighs and legs, yet Ventress could feel Grievous’ masculinity. It was almost like a musk, and she felt a small tug in the Force. Not that it determined gender, yet it was a sense she had never felt before. Yes. It was a male. She knew, and Dooku had not even announced the gender yet.   
As soon as the cyborg stopped walking, there was a burst of harsh whispering and frightened glances. Looking around her, everybody was murmuring to each other at once, their faces pale and hands trembling, except for one. Looking at San Hill, he was the only one staring ahead, what appeared to be an almost crooked smile on his long face. He just sat there calmly, occasionally taking glances at the others in the room.  
He knew.  
“Oh my…” she heard the female Neimoidian senator sitting on the other side of her proclaim, admist the chatter and panicky undertones. “Is t’at t’ing hideous.”  
Ventress felt her shoulders lock in place.  
“My god, it looks like it crawled out of the womb of a damned Krath war d’oid,” she heard Nute say among the throng of voices. Rune and a few other surrounding him starting laughing.  
“Hideous”… “Unnerving”… “Geonosian Devil”… “Horrible”… “A Monster”… “Disgusting perverse”… “Interesting”…  
She had said the word admist it all without realizing it, and many pairs of eyes landed on her, making the room more and more quiet. Before she could feel say anything, Dooku had begun to speak again, much to her relief.  
“I was expecting you to all be surprised by this. Well, not all of you,” he paused, as if pondering what he just said. “What you are looking at is the finest craftwork of the Geonosians. It is because of me, however, you are seeing this magnificent creation or flesh, blood, brain, and metal. However, you can also thank the Jedi for him being here.”  
A few gasps rose from the audience, including Ventress, but Dooku hushed them promptly.   
“However, that is a story for another day. I’m sure Grievous wouldn’t like to bring up such a horrible event.” His voice had taken on a somewhat sanctimonious yet understanding tone. Before he could speak any more though, the cyborg suddenly raised hand partway up, revealing six digits instead of the usual five. The Count, somewhat startled by the silent outburst and sudden movement, nodded curtly. “Is there something you want to say, general?” A throng of sudden silence. General?  
Grievous didn’t talk right away, gazing at every senator, officer, chairman, and Seperatist council member in the room. His hands were behind his back, which was as straight as an arrow, and took his time scrutinizing every member, including her. There was something about his glances that could cut steel and make your heart skip a beat at the same time. When he turned his pupils in her direction, she found herself making direct eye contact and even giving a slight nod. He looked at her for a moment more before giving a slight nod and glancing further to the left. He accepted it, she thought. I nodded to him and he responded. It was when he was turned away from her she pondered why she had nodded to him.  
“Council,” his glassy, rumbling voice suddenly permeated the air, almost making Ventress jump out of her seat. There was a stern tone to it, yet not unkind. “It is an honor to be in your presence. Judging by your rather…invidious tones of voices and frightened whispers, you all—most of you must be wondering why I am here.” Ventress found herself nodding her head.   
Grievous suddenly lifted his skeletal hand and balled his fingers into a fist. “It is a long story, but sue to the insufficient amount of time I have been provided with, I shall give you a synopsis, if Dooku most kindly gives me permission.”  
The Count nodded his way. “As you wish. It may stir some confidence into these folks. Although I’m sure some of them already have some for you.” He shot a glance at Ventress.  
The cyborg began to pace slowly, his right hand making the smallest of motions as he spoke.   
“I have always had a rather…strained relationship with the Jedi, to put it kindly,” the cyborg began, Ventress taking notice that his voice took different tones and enunciated words better than any droid she had ever heard talk. It was like hearing an actual person speak!  
“I hail from an Outer Rim planet known as Kalee. I’m not sure if most of you have heard of it. I belonged there to a species known as the Kaleesh, who were highly spiritual and were as tough as nails. When I was still all flesh and blood there was a war going on with an insectosoid race called the Huk—I see some of you nodding. You’ve heard of them?” He was pointing to a female Muun senator. She nodded, before he continued with his story. Other figures had been nodding with her as well.  
“As I was saying, the Huk were a cruel, vindictive race. They harvested and stole our sources of food and overtime enslaved and slaughtered a total of 3,000,000 Kaleesh—men, women, and children.” His eyes soon gave a far-away look. “I, along with many other men and women, were trained in the art of skilled and advanced warfare. We were able to decimate about half the Huk population, and over a period of short years the last of the Huk were removed from our planet. We were soon able to force them off our planet and we conquered theirs, making sure they could not come back with any surprise attacks.”  
He closed his eyes for a moment, remiscing before continuing. “This went on for only two Coruscant years, as the Huk eventually went to the Galactic Republic for help. The Republican for some damned reason gave them their sympathy, and my people were forced back to our barren, diseased, plight-filled planet by the Jedi. Most of them starved to death.”  
“T’e Jedi!?” Nute suddenly cried out, his fingernails scratching against the marble table and leaving little marks. Grievous turned his gaze toward the Neimoidian and nodded.  
“Yes. The Jedi. They had the nerve to plant themselves in an issue they had no right for being and forced by people back to a planet with barely any food and resources left. They had no idea that the Huk were also responsible for killing my father, mother, my sisters, and…and a woman I loved with all my heart.” Ventress gasped, and others followed, mostly feminine.   
Grievous’ body language remained the same, even though his voice was now carrying a melancholy tone. “I wanted to save my people. I couldn’t let them all die because of the ignorance and selfishness of a council that knew nothing about us. I became an enforcer in the Intergalactic Banking clan, in which I was able to rank up and send assistance to my planet, as well as a hefty sum of money. I had been living on Coruscant, so I had to take the risk of trusting my planet would be safe from harm. I was known to my people as a savior, along with others as well, but I was the only one of that group left. They relied on me. Depending on me for safety and income, and was glad to provide it.”  
He took a shaky gulp. “This ended up working—until the Huk realized how vulnerable Kalee had become. Once they had borrowed enough money from the Galactic Republic, they attacked my planet once again. I realized I had to go back and fight, and on my way home in a shuttle, it exploded.” More gasps. “I later found out the Jedi had planted an ion bomb on my ship. They knew of my arrival and didn’t want me infiltrating on their politics and agreements they had with the Huk.” He gave a shiver. “I was dying and in shock, but was saved and brought before Hill, who I had gotten to know beforehand and was lucky enough to have somebody from the Banking Clan find me. They worked with me and I agreed to be enhanced with cybernetics. It was a grueling, excruciating process, but I was able to retain my brain, my organs, my face, and of course…my pride.” San Hill smiled and began to clap before a few others followed.  
Judging my Grievous’ eyes, he was starting to smile, but he looked somewhat tired as well. He suddenly raised his fist in the air.  
“I will not have the Jedi stand in my way and tread upon those whom don’t fit their agendas. They will not get away with these deplorable, disgusting crimes. They think they have ended my very existence, yet wait until they get a lick of my lightsaber.” He raised his fist. “Under Dooku’s reign, I am not just a Kaleesh elite. I am a general. A Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies. With these armies, the Jedi’s pathetic exitance will be judged and wiped from this galaxy!”  
The rooms was filled suddenly with thunderous applause. Claps, cheers, and whoops resounded from the council, their faces in glee and shouting out praises and slogans for killing the Jedi. Dooku was clapping and gleaming as well, looking almost ecstatic. Ventress, who hated the Jedi more than anybody else in this room, was not sure how she felt about this. She, too was clapping with the others, but also felt confusion. Looking at Hill’s jovial, jumping form, she grew even more curious. Why hadn’t Hill said anything about this before? She wondered. I almost feel like he’s been hiding something from all of us. When she looked forward again, Dooku made motions to shush everybody, and Grievous was looking straight at her.  
“Now,” the Count finally said once the room had grown more quiet. “We now have two capable commanders in our ever-growing military, General Grievous and Commander Ventress. I do know that they shall not fail us.” He gave her an almost mischievous smile. His smile was followed by a few uneasy, patronizing laughs from behind her. Grievous was still looking at her, curiously.   
Nute Gunray suddenly spoke up. “Ah, Grievous. T’is is wonderful! You will be t’e most capable general. I have my faith in you.” He crossed his fingers together. “Ah, it is much relieving indeed. An intelligent droid running our droid army.”  
He was rewarding with a sharp, cruel glare from Grievous. “Droid!?”  
Nute and the other were taken back. Ventress, who thought the bastard deserved as much screaming and calling-out as the next guy, was even taken back by the general’s sudden outburst.  
“Well, sir, I didn’t mean it like t’at. I wasn’t saying it to be condescending. I—“ The general had taken two large steps in the Neimoidian’s direction.  
“I will have you know I am not a droid!” The cyborg spat. “I can think on my own, plan my coordinates, and fight as well as any Jedi. Do not compare to me a mindless, soulless, clumsy machine. Like I said before, I have my heart and my brain so I am just as living as you are. The only difference is our exterior and well, our capabilities to handle even somewhat frightening situations.”  
Ventress nearly guffawed at the general’s statement, taken back by his bold, honest, and daring statement, as were others. She almost wanted to laugh and clap and applaud the general for speaking his mind and the truth. However, there was a tension in the room thick enough to cut a lightsaber and she knew her bursting in would not help matters. Gunray was in an even worse situation, and his mouth was gaping open and his eyes as wide as a durian fruit.  
“Are you saying I’m a coward!?” The Neimoidian viceroy snapped.  
Grievous narrowed his eyes. Before he could say anything, the Count but himself in. “I will not have such debates in this place. You two are going to have to work together in the future, so you better start getting to know each other.” When the Count turned away, Ventress swore she could hear Grievous whisper “I think I already have…”  
The Count suddenly turned in her direction. “The same goes to you, Ventress. You and him will be together quite often, so I hope you two aren’t wringing each other by the necks. We are relying on the both of you for this upcoming war, and you shall not fail us. To make the best of your results, you must work together. You must strategize, plan, and fight together. You won’t be together all the time, but when you are, you both must be cooperative and swift. Any tension between you two will be chaotic, I can assure you.” He seemed to be addressing this more to her than the general.   
He clasped his hands together. “This meeting is now over. I will have you all escorted back out to your ship. Ventress, stay behind. I need to discuss something with you and the gernal privately before you’re sent back to Cato-Neimoidia.”  
She agreed. Standing near Dooku in the center of the room, the Seperatist council and the rest headed out into the hallway, taking glances at the cyborg as they passed by. Nute, still fazed and shocked by the General’s statements, didn’t look him in the eyes. Head bowed low with eyes on the floor, he quickly shifted out with Rune Haako pursuing after him. As soon as everyone was cleared out and the noise from the hallway had dissipated, Dooku turned to her.  
“I will need to be seeing you soon. I am meeting with you and the General on Coruscant in two weeks. I will also message you the day before you depart. A shuttle monickered The Avenger will be picking you up at senator Lin Nova’s estate. That’s where your shuttle back to Cato-Neimoidia is dropping you off, anyway, so you don’t need to scavenge for it.” He remained nonchalant, and she kept her eyes on him, as she was getting rather uncomfortable with the General’s prolonged stares.   
“Can do, Dooku,” she said, calmly and cooly. “How long will I be there?”  
“You’ll be on Coruscant with us for a fortnight. I want to continue with our lightsaber training, and perhaps there are some things you can teach the General. Afterwards, well…I’m not sure as to what will occur afterwards, but you two may be with each other for a little while.”  
“W-what!?” the General gasped. “Even if we are going to be colleagues, we cannot be together, fighting side by side, all the time!”  
Ventress, already exhausted and wanting to push the General’s buttons, butt into the conversation. “What’s the matter? You afraid of a lady tainting your precious territory?”  
Grievous squinted. “I do not know you, and I am afraid of any tricks you pull out of your sleeve. ” She rolled her eyes. “What do you think I’m going to do, use you as a guinea pig for my latest spellwork?”  
Dooku was already holding his hand between them. “This is not a good start. You two better start getting along when you are together on Coruscant. We’ve got a lot of work to do, and I sense something in the Force that we don’t have much time left.” He turned his glance to Ventress. “You are excused, Ventress. Please message me so I know you were delivered safetly back.”  
She nodded. “Thank you, Dooku,” she said quietly before bowing. Giving a pseudo-angry glare at the General, she marched out of the room, feeling his stare on her even after she was heading out of the estate onto the shuttle out front. While heading out, she could hear the General say to the Count “She was the only one who wasn’t cajoling or pointing her fingers at me when I first stepped into the room.”  
Seeing the large blue shuttle, she entered in and found Lin Nova and a few other female Neimoidian senators sitting in the cockpit, waiting impatiently.  
“She’s back!” One with an elaborate blue and silver headdress cried. “Take us back to Nova’s estate, Cato-Neimoidia!”   
“Roger, roger,” she heard a B-1 droid’s voice squeak before the door to the shuttle close, soon lifting slowly into the air. As it did so, Asajj scooted away from the senators and sat down by herself, twiddling her lightsaber in her hand.   
She knew she was in for something big.


	2. The Personal Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being introduced to the General for the first time, Asajj Ventress is sent to stay at the abode of a Separatist Senator for two weeks.

Note: Asajj Ventress belongs to Star Wars/Clone Wars and George Lucas. Lin Nova belongs to me. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter 2~A Personal Conversation

Ventress realized she had been dead wrong about most of the senators keeping their materialistic greed in their heads. Stepping inside the estate of Lin Nova was as experience she had never had before. In one step she was greeted with fine, marble architecture and family portraits lining the walls like that of royalty. While she was very familiar with Neimoidian architecture and its somewhat intricate design, Nova’s house was even ostentatious for Neimoidian standards, and she had seen the estate of the viceroy, Gunray. It almost sickened her at the thought of somebody living in a manor this elaborate. She had never seen wealth flaunted so discernibly, almost sanctimonious in a way. It was a strange feeling for her, a woman with a deficiency in credits and extravagant garb, to be staying in such a place.  
Nova, who was been pursued by two feminine-programmed protocol droids, made her way up a twisted diorite staircase and showed the female Sith to her bedroom, which was just as flamboyant and grandiose as the rest of the manor. Nova even lent her the assistance of the two protocol droids for both assistance and care. Ventress was feeling rather gracious by the Neimoidian letting her stay, even if it was mostly out of fear. In fact, the Sith almost liked the senator.  
During the fortnight she stayed there she didn’t see much of Nova, but when she did they would walk together around the perimeter of the senator’s estate every morning. Their conversations were kind-spirited and comforting, yet also stilted and awkward. Having nothing in common with each other, their chats with each other would drop into silence and they’d finish their stroll without uttering another word. Even though it was obvious Nova was just as petulant and spoiled as others in her species, there was something about the senator that seemed kind and welcoming. Whether it was artificial or not Ventress couldn’t figure out.  
Nearing the end of her stay, she got a message from Dooku on her holocomm while heading to bed.  
“Greetings, Ventress,” Dooku began.  
“My lord,” Ventress returned, respectfully.  
“Have you been doing alright at senator Lin Nova’s estate?”  
“Yes, I have,” she spoke, huskily.   
“Good. Now, I’m sure you know why I’m calling you. It must be rather late there, but I wanted to give this message to you as soon as I could.”  
Ventress held the holocomm closer to her face, inspecting the Count’s flickering blue figure from what had to be terrible connection on Coruscant. “Yes, I believe so. You’re giving me the address for where I am to meet you and Grievous.”  
“Correct. Now, remember this, Ventress.” He gave her an address with a long name, which she ended up having him repeat twice. Inspecting the address, she realized their meeting spot was right near the established Senate Office Building.  
“Alright, I have it written down. Is there anything else you need from me, master?”  
The Count’s form flickered briefly. “Not now. However, you must leave there in two Neimoidian days and two nights. The shuttle you will be boarding is already there, but do not board it yet. The Republic must not know of your presence on Coruscant.”  
Ventress found herself somewhat confused. “Are they there, now? What makes me arriving at the time you ask me to be there keep me safer?”  
“They are not here, from what I know for now. However, I’ve been wrong before. Coruscant is open to all political parties, affiliations, and orders. It is a hotspot for a brewing conflict. If you arrive in the spot when I ask you to, you’ll be safe. Your name is starting to spread around this planet.  
Ventress was now muddled. “Why are you seeing us both on Coruscant? Why did you choose the planet that’s a ‘hotspot for a brewing conflict’? The identity of Grievous cannot be revealed to the public eye yet…even though I’m sure his name has already throughout Neimoidia like a wildfire.”  
Even though he was merely a flickering hologram in front of her at the moment, she could feel the burning anger in his eyes. “Do not interrogate me, Ventress! I will explain myself more once you are here. Follow my orders, and you will be safe. Rest well, Ventress, and goodnight.”   
While she lay in bed, the thoughts of the General rose back into her like a crashing tidal wave. The thought of nearly bleeding to death, skin charred and battered, not able to move and in catatonic shock all while knowing you weren’t dead was terrifying. She imagined his broken body, missing all his limbs, floating in the bacta tank, sentient and very aware, waiting to be rebuilt into cybernetics. She didn’t know what he really was. Was he fully connected and aware of his metallic flesh? Did he still feel pain? He had told them what parts remained, so did that mean he still had a spirit? She remembered what he had said to the viceroy and she shuddered, pulling the quilt over her as she did so.

“Do not compare to me a mindless, soulless, clumsy machine. Like I said before, I have my heart and my brain so I am just as living as you are. The only difference is our exterior and well, our capabilities to handle even somewhat frightening situations.”

Suddenly feeling sick and depressed, she closed her eyes and tried to think happy thoughts, not even sure if she had any left.  
…  
On her final day staying at Lin Nova’s manner, the senator thought it would be a lovely idea to have a nice Neimoidian dinner cooked for the departing Sith. Ventress felt gracious yet the thought made her stomach chunder. The cuisine of the Neimoidians was an acquired taste, and even then those who didn’t belong to the race or the culture strayed away from it with a ten foot pole.  
Sitting in Nova’s exquisite dining area, the two sat across from each other in front of a table covered with a lavish vegetarian feast. The sound of a harp played calmly in the background, and a garnet-colored wine had just been served to them both. Taking a sip from the wine, Ventress gave a sound of pleasure and licked her lips. “That tastes wonderful! Quality Neimoidian stock, I assume?”  
To the assassin’s surprise, the senator shook her head. “No. That wine was actually imported f’om a rustic brewery from the forest of Dathomir, a Dathomirian fruit I’ve never heard of, but it’s just wonderful!”  
Ventress’ eyes widened. “Dathomir? That’s where I hail from.”  
“Is it, really?” The Naimoidian asked.  
“Yes, but just born there. I didn’t grow up there.”  
“Oh? Did your parents immigrant somewhe’ else?”  
Ventress shook her head before calmly ladling a mushroom salad onto her plate. “No. I was given up by my mother’s clan to a man named Hal’sted. It was to ensure the safety of the clan of Talzin.”  
“Who is Talzin and Hal’sted?”  
The assassin took another small sip of wine. “Dathomir is…or was run by a coven of witches called the Nightsisters. The leader of the coven was named Mother Talzin, who was a magnificent spellcaster and had roots with the Sith, if not a heavy association. When I was still an infant, my clan fell under the control of a Siniteen renegade hunter named Hal’sted, and to ensure the safety of the clan my mother was forced to give me up to him. He took me Rattatak, and officially became my master.”  
Not looking up from her plate of mushroom salad, she heard a gasp followed by the sound of a fork dropping onto a plate. “You-you were a slave?”  
Ventress nodded. “Yes.”  
“Did he hurt you in any way?”  
Shake of the head. “No. He was very kind to me. However, he died when I was very young. Rattatak was a cruel, pitiful place, run by warlords and dictators by the dozen. He was a brave man, and it is because of him I am where I am now…sort of.”  
“Oh?” Nova was getting very intrigued by her story. “Did you become independent from t’ere or did somebody find you?”  
Ventress didn’t realize until now how open she was being to a lady she barely knew. Part of her wanted to tell Lin to forget about all of it and that she didn’t want to talk about it. The other part knew it did not matter if she told, anyways. Nova most likely wouldn’t share the information with anybody else, and if she did, what would happen? Nothing.  
The latter side won.  
“I was discovered by a Jedi residing on Rattatak named Ky Narec. He had been abandoned there by the Council. From what he told me—and I don’t remember this—the first time he saw me I had used the Force to kill a pirate tearing apart the village I was in. I didn’t really even know I had the Force then…but he claims he saw me and he took me under his wing.”  
“You—you were taken under t’e wing of a…a Jedi?” The senator’s face had gone slightly pale, and from the look in her eyes Ventress thought she was going to faint.  
“Well, yes,” she said hesitantly. “He trained me in lightsaber combat and using the Force for about a decade, all while defending ourselves and our people from the totalitarian government of our planet.” She looked down at her plate and stabbed a fork into a fungus, but didn’t lift it. “Then…he was killed. Shot in the back by a pirate. I had never felt so much rage and anger rise up inside of me at once, and right after seeing the man whom I was incredibly fond of dead at my feet, I killed his murderer and his cronies in a heartbeat. The Force was strong that day, and the Jedi never came to assist.” She clutched her fork angrily.  
“I was able to start a rebellion with the inhabitants who had known of my skill. Together, we were finally able to rid of the dictators and the overlords. It took years of sleepless nights, blood, sweat, tears…but we did it.” A small smile crept to her face. “We did it after the Jedi failed to assist those what were starving and frail. The Republic ignored our calls for help. I couldn’t bear it any longer! It felt disgustingly arbitrary and cowardly to not come to the aid of a planet who had long served the Republic. Count Dooku eventually found out, and offered to train me with the dark arts. He understood the pain I had gone through, once being a Jedi padawan, himself. I gladly accepted, and to this day I am still basking in that decision.” Using the Force, she lifted a small basket of herb bread gently to her direction and pulled out a slice.  
She had spoken with passion, anger, vengeance, and of course, pride. Even though she was wondering why she had told all this to comely Neimoidian senator, she felt a thrill run through her body, a mixture of both sadness yet confidence. As she took a bite into the soft, flaky dough, the senator had been sitting there listening the whole time, fork still clean and her food becoming chilled.  
“You are a very brave woman, I t’ink,” Nova proclaimed. “I am very lucky to be where I am. I am always amazed by those who can take punch after punch after punch yet still be standing on t’o feet.” Ventress smiled. “Your story reminded me of t’e d’oid General’s a little bit. You’re both fighting fo’ justice and fo’ a certain planet you are both fond of. Social justice, it is!” She raised her small fist in the air. “Fighting the adversa’y that failed to help either of you, even with one of their own kind involved! T’ey abandoned one of their own kind on a totalitarian planet!? Have t’ey no hearts? No compassion? Are t’ey really that peaceful!?”  
Ventress didn’t want to admit it, but seeing the hedonistic, somewhat avaricious Neimoidian senator getting riled up and giving a piece of her mind was one of the most satisfying, badass things she had ever seen. A lady of luxury, whom she thought she’s never fully get to know, was now speaking out freely against the Jedi, being vocal, loud, and using a liberal amount of body language. The assassin was loving every minute of it.  
Raising her wine glass, she held it up in the air and proposed a toast. “To the Sith, the Council, and our new military! Here’s also to luck with training!” The senator raised her glass as well.   
“Here! Here! I…I can’t toast f’om here but drink anyways, or we’ll lose the war!” Ventress laughed and sipped, savoring the taste of a home planet she barely knew or existed to her.  
After a minute of eating (and repressed gags on Ventress’ part), the senator looked up calmly again from the plate she finally decided to touch. “What do you t’ink of that droid General, Asajj?”  
Ventress stopped eating. If she had been speaking with Nute Gunray, she knew he would have been referring to the General as the “droid”, but not sure about Nova’s opinions, she surmised the senator was referring the “droid” as the army and not the cyborg, himself.  
“Oh,” Ventress almost lamented, noticing there weren’t any meat dishes on the table. “I don’t know. I was rather distraught by his story. I kind of wish he went into more detail, yet I know why he didn’t.” Her voice then took despondent tone. “I’m a little uneased by him, I must admit. I’ll be seeing him very soon on Coruscant for some lightsaber training. Now that should be fascinating.”  
“Did you converse with him when Dooku wan’ed you to stay behind?”  
Ventress almost gave a bitter smile. She knew Nova was going to ask about that. “Heh, if you could call it that. More like verbal sparring and disagreeing from the start.” She took one last bitter stab into an opaque, white gelatin salad before setting her fork down. “Not a good start, but it felt more like teasing to me. Hmm, I wonder what he’s doing now. I wonder if the bastard even sleeps.”  
“Bastard?”  
Ventress laughed. “I shouldn’t say that. He’s my colleague, after all.” A frown soon crossed her face. “I am a little envious of the fact that he’s got anatomy that can be replaced quite easily, but I can tease him about that later.”  
“If he lets you tease. He might th’eaten to break in you five different places if you dare do so.”  
“What the—“ Asajj almost cried out. “Do you really think he’s that belligerent?”  
“It’s possible,” Nova buzzed. “You saw the way he responded when Gunray called him a droid.”  
“The viceroy wasn’t teasing. I thought it was rather oblivious of him to not see Grievous as something more than just a mindless machine.”  
Nova took a swig of wine. “Ah, t’ue, but I still don’t take back what I said about te General not liking your…bantering. I mean, jus look at ‘im!”  
When Ventress forced herself to gulp down the last of her salad and a fine helping of fly egg soup, she stood up half-hazardly and nodded a courtesy. “Thank you so much, Nova. That was delicious! It was very generous of you, my dear.”  
The senator stood up as well, rubbing her small stomach ash she did so. “And I am honored that you and me were able to ‘ave dinner toge’er. I will be seeing ‘ou tomorrow before you are shuttled to Coruscant.” She gave a small, feminine sounding yawn. “I must retire to bed. I need to be up early for an appointment with that Muun, Hill.” She didn’t sound too thrilled.  
The assassin was soon bending over and starting to collect silverware. “What about these dishes?”  
“The droids have got them, no need to worry about t’at,” she walked out of the dining area. “Goodnight my dear. Remember to switch off t’e light before you leave.”  
“Goodnight,” Ventress said gratefully, watching as a service droid entered the room to collect the food.  
“That food doesn’t go to waste, does it?”  
The droid stopped mid-way at its task and turned his head in her direction. “They wouldn’t be much good leftover. The senator prefers her food fresh and piping hot.”  
Ventress felt somewhat sickened. Even though they were involved in the same council, her and the Neimoidians would never be able to cross paths. While she had enjoyed Nova’s company, she hoped they would not be involved together politically. Handing the dish to another service droid, the assassin shuffled out of the room and turned off the light, not disturbing the work of her subordinates. She entered her bedroom and threw herself on the bed, letting the warmth envelope her and clouding her congested thoughts over, turning her brain to jelly. Sighing, ecstatic for the days that awaited her, she curled up on tap of the blanket and fell into a deep slumber.  
She wondered, as she drifted off, what her partnership with the General would be like.


	3. The Glittering City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long stay at a materialistic senator's mansion, Ventress sets off to Coruscant to train with the General; in which he becomes curious about the Sith assassin.

Author Note: I just realized I referred to Ventress as “commander” in the first chapter and “assassin” in the second. To clear up confusion, she partakes in both occupations. Even in canon she was both a Commander of the Droid armies and an assassin…all while receiving Sith training from Dooku. Just wanted to clear that up, because I did not make it clear earlier on. My apologies. 

Also, thank you SupernaturalGodzilla (FF.net) for the long review. I love receiving them.

Chapter 3~The Glittering City  
Asajj watched precariously as The Avenger descended slowly down in front of Lin Nova’s estate. As the shuttle touched the ground, she felt her breath hilt and her abdomen suddenly cramp up. She had not felt much emption for heading to Coruscant for more training, this time with a cyborg, but now the realization of what she was doing suddenly hit her and she felt a great rush of anxiety. Why am I so nervous? I possess more skills than that General most likely ever will, she thought. I do wonder what he thinks of me. I couldn’t get him out of my mind for all this time.  
As the shuttle door opened, revealing three regular B1 battle droids and an Oom commander battle droid standing in front of them by exactly a foot. “Greetings, Commander Ventress,” the commander droid said in its high-pitched tenor. Ventress remained sincere as it gave a curt bow to her. Before it could speak more, she held up her hand and turned back to Lin Nova, who was looking both at her and the commander droid.  
“Well, I wish t’e best of luck to you, Commander Asajj Ventress,” she spoke candidly. “T’e best of luck to you and t’e General. You now have my contact in case you need anything. I will be most gracious to assist.” She bowed.  
Ventress folded her long, brown cloak over her body. “Thank you very much, Nova. I will consider your offer, greatly. It was very kind of you to let me stay at such a lovely abode.” She nodded and gave a small smile, but it felt feigned. “I must leave now. I am already late.”  
She turned and headed inside the shuttle, giving one last wave to the senator before ordering the door to close.  
“Where to, Commander?” The Oom droid spoke, cutting the silence.   
Ventress took a seat near the window and turned her chair to face the droid. “Do you think the pilot can take me to this address?” She handed a piece of paper to the droid, who studied it for a moment before heading to the cockpit. “Let me see if he can.”  
She heard small, idle chatter between the Oom droid and the B1 pilot for a minute before hearing the familiar phrase of “Roger, Roger,” The droid commander stepped out and returned to her. “He says he can, Commander. Is this where we are heading?”  
“Yes.”  
Looking out the window, she watched as the shuttle slowly revved its engines and lifted up into the air, the vast Neimoidian landscape showing off it’s green splendor before the shuttle tipped its nose upward and flew rapidly into the cosmos. Ventress gripped a seat in front of her and faced forward anxiously, feeling even more frightened than when she did sitting up front and piloting. The inside of the durasteel spacecraft suddenly became very dark, only illuminated by dim red lights overheard. The droids seemed to be taking the ride more easily than her, as they were simply sitting calmly with their hands on their laps and chatting freely with each other. She always wondered how such simple machines could converse so easily with each other. She, an organic who had a complex and disturbed pass with a background of interactions with many historically important individuals, events, wars, and different planets, could barely hold a decent conversation. True, she and Nova had hit it off well, but that was because the senator had made it easy for her. Also awkward. Very awkward. Glancing back at the droids, she wished she had not told the Neimoidian about her life. Individualistic libertines wrapped up in luxury and hedonistic desires didn’t digest stories like hers too well. However, it seemed to rile the senator up and she had secretly liked that.   
She rested her chin on her balled-up fingers and contemplated the events of the future. There was a Separatist dinner being held rather soon on Cato-Neimoidia to discuss negotiations and planning for upcoming, brewing conflict involving the Galactic Republic. She couldn’t remember an exact date, but she found herself looking forward to the event. Deep inside she hoped relations between her and the General were settled and by then they could discuss their ideas and their plans. From what she had overheard from a telephone call between Lin Nova and San Hill, the General was incredibly ambitious and ready for battle. It seemed rather early, but the General was already making plans. Ventress hoped the cyborg had not gotten ahead of himself and was trying to isolate her from his work. She wondered if he even remembered she was going to be his colleague.   
She wanted to know what he was fighting for. It had to be more than just for Kalee. Peace and negotiations between the Republic and them? No. he hates the Jedi with an iron fist. Establishing a larger trading federation across the Galaxy? He despises that Gunray! He is too independent to allow a corporation that large to inaugurate itself in his beliefs. Justice for those trying to distance themselves from the Republic? Possibly. There is no way he trusts any Jedi or Republican after what happened to his people on Kalee. The Republic is a brewing cesspool below that white, shining, peaceful exterior it likes to show…  
She kept surmising, yet drawing conclusions was a difficult task. The General seemed more complex and intelligent than what she could come up with. Thinking of war and why it was to happen made her feel somnolent, and decided to rest her eyes, her chin still resting on her fists, attempting to clear her mind and let the Force guide her. She only got to do so for an insignificant amount of time before the Oom droid exited the cockpit and said “We are approaching Coruscant, ma’am. We will be landing in approximately 20 minutes.” Ventress gave a nod its way before looking out the window, feeling slightly better yet oddly enough, exhausted.  
As the ship descended slowly into Coruscant’s atmosphere, the Sith looked outside the window and lifted an eyebrow. For a Planet whose name translated to “glittering and sparkling”, it was almost the polar opposite and the epitome of a both wealth and poverty combined into one. The area of Coruscant’s largest city, the area where she would be heading, emphasized this greatly. The sky was once pink, yet due to pollution and the bustling inhabitants the Planet was currently supporting it was colored a light gray with brown undertones. A golden sun resembling a ball of fresh butter soon descended down the horizon, making the city look bleak and dangerous. Despite these misgivings, there was something about it Ventress couldn’t help but like. With most of the city being structures that towered thousands of feet above sea level and belonging to several hundred cultures and races, Coruscant was the ideal hotspot for business and negotiating, as well as eventually finding your niche. It rolled through the windows and showed of its dull yet strangely energetic atmosphere.  
She felt a sudden bump that jerked her out of her thoughts. “We’re here!” Both the pilot and the Oom droid said almost gleefully. The shuttle door opened and she felt the chilly breeze suddenly encapsulate the insides of the shuttle. Wrapping her brown cloak around her entire frame, she stood up and exited, finding herself standing on the porch of a small skyscraper. The three B1 units and the Oom Commader droid soon clambered clumsily off before the shuttle door closed and headed down to park in one of the hangars below. Standing in front of her while this all occurred was Count Dooku, standing with perfect posture, his face long and showing frustration.  
“You are very late, Ventress. Come, follow me inside.” Ventress did so, watching his cape as it fluttered from the wind and the rush of the sky traffic currently occurring around them. She felt rather anxious about staying in a place so high off the ground, in an area where gliders and flying methods of transportations were common, but such was the bustling life of Coruscant. Once they were inside what appeared to be a rented meeting lounge, Dooku stood in the middle of the room and turned to her.  
“We will have to wait until morning for the training, due to your tardiness,” he spoke clearly, almost hissing and enunciating the last word. “I am surprised, Ventress. You have never been late, before. Call me scrupulous if you want, but if I remember correctly, we have not had this meeting in the past. I’m wondering why you’re late?”  
Seeing the question wasn’t rhetorical, the Sith trainee gave a small bow. “Count, forgive me,” she spoke with a hilt of anxiety in her voice. “I didn’t time myself correctly. I was also late on packing and I didn’t realize how great the distance between Cato-Neimoidia and Corescant was until the Oom unit gave me an approximation of when the shuttle was to land.” The Count didn’t seem satisfied with her answer. One corner of his mouth twinged downward and he cast her a downside look, yet he seemed to exhausted to debate.  
“You have a pass from me this time, Ventress, as you have been good about keeping on schedule in the past. However, I expect to not see this again. No more, as I overheard a B1 unit call it, “fooleywang” from you. Do you understand?”  
She nodded and gave another bow, almost smiling at the Count’s choice of words,  
“Where is the General?” she asked suddenly, just realizing he wasn’t there.  
Dooku was now showing disdain. “He went to bed. I suggest the same for you. You two have a full day tomorrow. Your room number is 23, two floors down from this one. You will meet me and Grievous down in the basement where the hangars are. I’m sure the Oom unit can give you instructions in case you get lost. Please, get some rest and I bid you a goodnight.” He opened the door and escorted her out, and as she headed down the carpeted staircase to her room, the three B1’s and the Commander droid followed behind her. Holding the key Dooku had given her and unlocking the door, she turned to the droid’s and gave them instructions.  
“Commander, I’d like to have one of your B1’s guard my door, and also have one of them guard the General’s door as well.”  
“Yes, ma’am,” the Commander spoke sincerely before pointing to the B1 in the middle. “Guard Commander Ventress’ door, B1 unit OM-21. OM-27,” he spoke, pointing downstairs. “Head to Grievous’ room and guard his door.”  
“Roger, roger,” OM-27 spoke before heading downstairs along with the other B1 and the Commander, their chatter starting up before disappearing after a couple minutes. By then, OM-21 stood outside her door with a gun cocked in his hand. She closed the door silently, the soft beeping of the droid her new whitenoise.  
…  
Ventress woke up with the sun of Coruscant running across her bed in ripples, giving light into the dark and musty room, even though the Commander had to admit it was much nicer than what else was usually offered in this city. Stretching her limbs and peering out the spaces between the window blinds, she saw that most of Coruscant was still asleep. Ventress always considered herself to be an early riser, yet being up at the crack of dawn was something she knew she was going to have to get used to.   
Realizing she had not showered at all the last week she had stayed at Lin Nova’s, the assassin stripped off her attire and took a hot shower, who upon discovering was starting to grow hair on the top of her head, attempted scratching as much out of her scalp as she possibly could. She had started shaving her head once she started training with Dooku to make combat a lot easier, yet now that she was busy worrying about her future predicaments, she had forgotten to shave. Looking at herself in the mirror once she was out of the shower and completely dried off, she gave a frustrated sigh.  
“Great. I look like a goddamn dandelion,” she uttered indignantly. “If my hair was to grow back, why did it have to come back looking like fluff?”  
Realizing she was stalling time focusing on the miniscule, white fuzz that was growing on her head, she stepped out of the bathroom and dawned into a comfortable, ankle-length black dress with a leather bodice, knee-high purple stockings and her black, leather boots. She wrapped the brown cloak around her and head toward the door. Upon exiting, she head downstairs and passed Room 21, the General’s room. Seeing the Magnaguard’s weren’t there, she wondered if he was already gone or if he was still sleeping. She had the urge to knock on his door and see, but she hesitated. Thinking back on the encounter with the Magnaguard and OM-27, she decided against it. Heading down the staircase in only a dozen jumps and leaps, she saw OM-21 standing there, in the small white room that was the lobby…which was only an entrance greeted by a white vase holding fresh orchids on a Tatooine-inspired table.   
“Good morning, Commander,” OM-21 spoke. “The General and the Count are already in the hangar. They went down there 10 minutes ago. Do you want me to guide you down there or can you find it, yourself?”  
Seeing that she was already almost late again and that Dooku would be aggravated and the General not trusting her capabilities, Ventress nodded her head. “Yes, please. Hurry, though. They are expecting me, now.”  
The droid took her down a steep staircase that kept turning left and right down a dimly-lit passageway, before they stepped into a loud, boisterous hangar, overlooking a good chunk of Coruscant. Apparently, this place had a large, rectangular area where ships could be parked that the Commander had not noticed before due to the area she had landed in. The hangar, which was built into a cliff, was one of the largest Ventress had ever been in…and one of the most intriguing. In the several spaces, there were jets, starships, battle cruisers, bombers, shuttles…more than Ventress had ever learned about. She watched as two Duros loaded an airship with missles, a group of Neimoidian gunners hauling crates of food aboard a starship, a blue Twi’lek scrubbing down a bomber plane…she would have continued to stare in awe if she had not remembered why she was here.   
Running past a trio of female red-skinned Twi’leks fixing the engine of a private jet, she saw the General standing in front of the shuttle, parked far into the corner. He appeared to be taking an avid interest in his surroundings, and watched as the two Duros kept busy, while shifting their nervous glances over to the skeletal cyborg. In fact, he had drawn a good amount of attention, yet they all seemed to anxious to stroll up and strike a conversation. Ventress, after most had turned back to their work, walked over to him, smiling both bitterly and elatedly.  
“Good morning, General,” she said, giving a small bow. He did the same gesture. “And to you, Commander Ventress. Are you ready to head out of this cacophonic doomsday kingdom?” He sounded hurt, as if the noise was bothering him immensely.  
Surprised by the superfluous amount of words and unexpectancy of hearing him say them at all, she laughed. “I…guess so. If this is a cacophonic doomsday kingdom to you then maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to be the Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies.”  
Before the General could respond, Dooku peeked his head out of the corner of the shuttle door and motioned for them to come inside. “We are wasting time out here. Enter the shuttle, both of you. We have an interesting day ahead of us.” Upon giving the B1 pilot another address, the shuttle door closed and ascended into the air, but this time more slowly and keeping the same general plane once high enough in altitude.   
The 15-minute ride was mostly silent with an occasional tip on self-defense from Dooku, which the General seemed to be paying attention to more than Ventress was. She had already learned most of these, and almost smirked at the fact that such juvenile tactics were being spoken to them. However, before she could judge, Grievous suddenly spoke.  
“I do not need to be reprimanded. I know all of this stuff by heart,” Asajj shot a hot glance at him, again surprised that he was brave enough to speak his mind, impressed as well. She looked at Dooku and saw that the Count was rather stunned by the remark, but didn’t say anymore and turned to look toward the cockpit, tapping his fingers melodically against his lap for the rest of the way.  
“I thought the General wasn’t supposed to be seen in public,” Ventress asked, suddenly realizing that he had revealed himself in a Brobdingnagian-sized hangar.  
Dooku looked her way, calmly. “He’s fine for now. He just cannot be seen with me, as that will reveal who he had affiliations with. For now, he is just seen as a normal cyborg.” He still sounded miffed about the General’s response to his instruction.  
“Err-“ Ventress pursed her lips, looking into the golden eyes of the General. “You’ll still be attracting attention. Even if cyborgs are common on a bustling planet of business, I’m not sure how many people have seen one as intriguing-looking as you.” Grievous looked down at her, noticing that she wasn’t trying to be snide. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that remark, but he nodded and rested his fingers on his kneecaps.   
Once the shuttle landed, the three of them departed and Ventress realized they were on the porch of yet another skyscraper, this time one much taller and farther away from the growing air traffic. The Count directed them to a door only a few feet away from the shuttle entrance and opened it with a key, guiding them swiftly inward before closing the door.  
Once the lights overheard were switched on, Ventress looked around in awe. This had to be the largest training room she had ever encountered. Even though it was a training room empty of tools and weapons for training, the floor was padded with a soft, fibrous material that gave the signifigance that this room was indeed a trainee room. Making sure the door on the other side was locked as well, she turned her attention to the Count.  
“Won’t the people below us hear us and wonder what the Hell is going on?” she questioned, even though it sounded quite comical coming out of her mouth than it did sounding in her head.  
“This building belongs to San Hill,” the Count said in an amused tone. “He gave us permission to turn this room into one of our training quarters. The highest the elevator of this building goes is to the 65th floor, which is five floors below this one. The rest must be travelled via staircase. However, the two below us are only used as storage units for droid parts and janitorial equipment.” The Count drew his cloak off his arms before igniting the scarlet-colored lightsaber. “We must get started. Ventress, how about a quick duel between us? Maybe the General will pick up on some tips as he watches.”  
Ventress agreed and soon ignited her matching-colored saber, throwing her brown cloak off her body and standing with her legs spread, partially crouching her to the ground. Raising her saber over her head, she cried “You’re on!” Rushing over to the Count, the soon were locking sabers and did what Ventress felt like was a dance.  
Twirling around in a circle, she collided her saber with Dooku’s again before she leaped and did a quick flip over his head, blocking Dooku’s lightsaber with hers and Force-pushing him to the left. He landed on his back before swiftly getting up again and swished the saber beneath her feet, in which she leaped out of the way, rolling on the floor a couple times before jumping back into the exact position she started in. The Count rushed over to her and attempted to swing the blade into her neck, only for the Commander to reflect it, their sabers crossed and near her cheek. Feeling the searing heat emitting from their weapons, their faces glowing red from the light being emitted, she applied as much pressure to her upper body as she could and lunged forward, breaking the connection between their sabers. The Count ran two steps back and attempted another try, but Ventress had already caught on and had dodged out of the way. She felt a sudden pressure on her body and realized the Count was attempting to Force-push her. Gritting her teeth, she squinted her eyes and let out a small cry, pushing her hands in the air and exerting as much of her energy as she could in such a quick moment, Force-pushed the Count into the air, having him levitate there for a couple seconds before letting him go and watching him land back-first onto the spongy floor.  
“Excellent work, Ventress,” The Count spoke nonchalantly, as if they had just been standing there instead of training. “Maybe you’d like to try some of these tactics on Grievous.” Ventress looked up to her right and saw that the General had been watching them with great attentiveness. Undoing the silver cape he had been wearing, the cyborg approached the opposite side of the room, with Ventress standing against the opposite wall. He now had a sly look in his eye that made Ventress feel uncomfortable. She attempted to ignore it and held her ignited saber in front of her.  
“I’m growing a beard over here, General,” she said in a husky tone. “The sun doesn’t follow your whims.”  
Grievous stayed silent and ignited the saber he had been holding in his claw, which, to the Commander’s shock, was blue instead of the usual scarlet red Sith and Seperatist trainees used.  
“What in the--?” She found herself crying out. “Why is your saber blue?”  
“The color red hurts my eyes after a while,” the General said tranquilly, as if he was admitting a weakness.  
“That saber is from when I was a Jedi padawan,” Dooku said matter-of-factly. “I managed to keep it for all these years and it no longer serves me any purpose.” The tone he suddenly took sounded incensed and trembled a little, as if the Count had stirred up a bad memory.  
Ventress turned her attention back to the General. “Do you want me to not use this? I have a green lightsaber that I stole from a Jedi one time in a duel. His Force ghost must be seething,” she gave a sinister smile.  
The General’s eyes glistened and his pupils slitted. He wanted to hear more about it, but he knew this was not the time to tell stories. He shook his head. “You may use your red one. Besides, it’ll keep me in-game.” He swung his saber over his head, his voice taking a commanding tone. “I am ready.”  
“Bring it on!”  
In the same instant, they both leaped for each other and ended up n the center of the room, already clashing their saber three times in different positions under a minute of fighting. As she struck him blow after blow she admired the way his body moved graciously even if it was all metal and cybernetics. As she struck for his kneecap, he bent it forward, raising his other leg in the air, spinning him around on the one foot like a dancer. Facing her again, he dove and charged for her, lightsaber pointed to her abdomen. She leaped out of the way and landed on his back. Before she could even lift her lightsaber up, a clawed hand reached back for her and threw her onto the ground, his metal, clawed foot pinning her to the ground by her chest. As Ventress gasped for breath and attempted to Force push him off, he threw her in the air with his foot and kicked her forward into the ground. The Commander got up slowly, wiping a bruise she received on her cheek and glared at him. He returned it, sniggering. She growled and dived between his legs, sending the lightsaber between his thighs as she did so. She heard a pained groan and she dove onto the floor and spun herself onto her back. Standing up, she saw a small burn mark on the plating of his crotch, which would have be even more deadly and painful if he had been all flesh and blood. He seemed to be in pain though, clutching the spot gently with a clawed hand for a moment before suddenly leaping into the air above her, attempting to slice the lighsaber on her shoulder blade. She instead knocked the saber out of his hands and onto the floor, a finger falling beside it. She was about to go for his leg again once he landed, but instead found the lightsaber being swat out of her hand and onto the ground next to his. Before she knew it, she was being pinned onto the floor by his taloned hands, one hand wrapped around her throat and one latched onto her arm. Gasping, she pressed her feet into his abdomen in an attempt to push him away. Looking up into his amber-colored eyes, she saw not determination, but mischief. They were roughhousing! She ended up emitting a mix of a cough and a laugh, which bubbled out of her throat in short intervals. Before they could continue, Grievous was suddenly lifted into mid-air and thrown into the wall. Ventress felt the same occurrence happen to her, and soon she was slammed painfully into the opposite wall, knocking the wind out of her.  
“You two were doing very well at first,” the Count said, his voice calm. “You, Commander, displayed good tactic and defense while you, General, have shown me that your skills with the lightsaber and defense without it are improving.” His voice then became ireful. “However, I will not tolerate you two punching and strangling each other like children on the floor. This is lightsaber training and self-defense, and I could tell by the looks in your eyes that you two were treating it like it was a game.” He looked out onto the midmorning sun of Coruscant.  
“We will go over some tactics when dealing with more than one individual,” he said morosely. “Listen to me closely, both of you. I cannot have my two best warriors acting like children on the battlefield.”  
They trained until the sun began to touch the horizon. By the time the Count declared the session to be over, the sky had turned a sherbet orange mottled with flecks of gold and brown haze from the pollution. Ventress felt fatigued and hungry, but felt like she could continue longer than the whole session had lasted. Dawning her cloak, she followed the Count and the General back onto the porch and in the shuttle, which made a U-turn before gaining speed back to the direction of their place of stay.   
During the last half of the session, a question Ventress had asked earlier but had gotten an angered response from came back to her. The Count’s mood had improved once they had shown they were listening to him, intently. Sitting across from her and Grievous with his hands on his lap, he was smiling in a good-natured way. It seemed like a good time to bring up something that had left her hesitant for a good part of the day.  
“Now Count, if you don’t mind me asking this, why are we training on Coruscant? Why did we not stay on Geonosis?” Asajj asked fervently, hoping she would not be accused of interrogation again.  
The Count even seemed pleased by the question. “Staying on Geonosis would have been like asking for death early, my dear,” he spoke, gravely. “I spoke of a brewing conflict on Coruscant. There is always a conflict brewing on Coruscant! However, this one is quite serious and is linked with that planet all those senators called a “dustball”. The Republican senate attempted to discuss a new bill known as the “Military Creation Act’, but it all became chaos. The inhabitants of Geonosis have been protesting ever since the idea was proposed, and now that it’s being discussed all across the Galaxy, there has been a…feud between the Republic and the Confederate Independent Systems.”  
The general’s eyes widened in astonishment. “And…why and how have I not heard any of this? As the military leader of one of the most powerful armies in the Galaxy, why have I not been informed about any of this?” Ventress nodded. “Me as well. Why have I not been informed?”  
Dooku still remained nonchalant, despite the already obvious signs of anger brewing in both the General and the Commander. “Oh, but it has been discussed, mostly admist those involved heavily in politics and the Trade Federation. They are the ones that will be affected the most by all of this. This is also something very recent, and I didn’t think you guys should be thinking too heavily about it until later.”  
It was Ventress’ turn to widen her eyes I shock. “We-we’re heavily involved in the army, Count. If we want to set up successful tactics and know who we’ll be working with, we should know right away. I know barely a thing about the politics of Geonosis.”  
The Count ogled the ever-darkening sky. “You will know in time, Ventress and Grievous. It is mostly a political game. I’m not even sure if it will concern the use of military force.” He ended the sentence tightly, as if not wanting to discuss it any further. The General lapsed into a complete silence, contemplating future events while the Commander watched the city alongside them, their shuttle getting lower and lower until the walls of the hangar filled her view, a moment of silence scattered and the familiar click of a shuttle door opening soon followed. The silence was broken, but this time was not as loud as when they had boarded.  
“I will be meeting you two here at the same time, same location,” was all the Count spoke to them before the door closed. Walking together side-by-side inside the hangar, Ventress felt protected if not somewhat comforted. Once they were out of the chill air and ascending the steep staircase, Grievous, to her surprise, began to talk to her.  
“When did you attain the Jedi’s lightsaber?” He asked, partially demanding and partially curious.  
A smile formed across her dark lips.” I had a feeling you would want to know about that,” she spoke in her usual husky tone. “I believe I attained it a year ago, from a padawan on Christophsis. Me and Hill had some business to attend to involving the Viceroy and his crony, Rune Haako. When me and Hill were heading back to our ship, this male in a brown cloak approached me and Hill and admit to following us around. He had come here with two Jedi masters and he expected us to obey him.”  
“What was the damned bastard’s name?” Grievous questioned.  
Ventress remembered it as vividly as if it all happened yesterday. “He said his name was Niy Ludonza. Considering he was a Nautolan, that could not have been his real name considering a couple of those letter he used are not even used in Nautolan phoenetics. Well anyways, he threatened he’d shoot San Hill if I didn’t follow him to his Republican starship. In an instant I had my lightsaber on him and sliced the bastard’s head off.” She gave a chortle. “Hill looked like he was going to faint after he saw the puddle of blood. The funny thing was, I wasn’t thinking of keeping his lightsaber until I saw it roll out of his hand and directly at my feet. How could I abandon such a wonderful gift from such a piss-poor Jedi fighter?”  
Grievous quirked his brow. “Is…this the first time you killed a Jedi?”  
Ventress shook her head. “Ah, no, but the other three I did kill were also padawans so that doesn’t really count.” Grievous nodded. “Color me impressed. Your skills are equal if not beyond those of a Jedi master.” Ventress, upon entering the lobby, saw that he was being mocking or derogatory. He was actually complimenting her, and she felt honored, even if her skills were better than his.  
“I’m not sure why I collect lightsabers,” she admitted. “I have no use for them except for taking peeks at them and patting myself behind the back.” A fiendish smile soon crossed her face as they ascended the staircase to their rooms. “Maybe I’ll fight with those instead of the one Dooku made for me when I’m cutting the heads off Jedi knights. That way they’ll being dying by their comrade’s own blade. Oh, the sweet taste of irony.”  
Grievous turned to look at her, his pupils slitted and his eyes so wide she could see white. “You are a cruel, barbaric woman,” he said, his eyes brightening and crinkling in the corners. “I’m sure you and me will make the best of cohorts.” She smiled at him as well.  
“Hey. Dooku doesn’t look for good girls,” she stated rationally. “He looks for warriors and fierce leaders.”  
They were now in front of the General’s room. As he pulled the keys out of his cloak, he looked at her almost longingly.  
“Hmm, I think I can see that.”  
As he unlocked his door, she looked at the singe mark on his groin. “Did I…hurt you at all?” He gave a small shrug.  
“Sort of, but by the gods I am thankful I am metal instead of flesh, or I would have made sure you wouldn’t be seeing the light again.” There was a tinge of pain evident in his voice, as if he was evocating a sense of longing.  
Ventress, although feeling somewhat awkward by the conversation, was glad they at least weren’t hurtling insults at each other or trying to tear each other’s throats out. “There’s a shop out around this area that repairs dro—metal,” she spoke, agitated she had almost referred to him as a droid now what they were starting to get on each other’s good side. “Maybe you can head down there and have them fix it.”  
“I’m not going to worry about it too much, I’m not sure if you even penetrated past the first layer. Besides, I feel rather strange being in a small, dirty room surrounded by droids in need of fixing. I’d feel like a lesser being.”  
Ventress quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Are you saying not all beings are equal in your power?”  
He almost glared at her. “I cannot think of many droids that have had their limbs and anything below their torso burned off their bodies. Also, I have a much more detailed past than a machine mass-made in a factory the day or two before ever will.” Ventress wanted to point about the OM-27 droid staying in her bedroom, but hearing the last sentence made her silent.  
“You are indeed correct about that,” she said solemnly. “Also, if anybody dares call you a droid, don’t be afraid to stand your ground…and chop their hands off,” she joked.  
The General responded with a nod. “Goodnight, Commander. I cannot wait to see you fail miserably in the training quarters tomorrow.” Before he could fully shut his door, Ventress kicked it powerfully and sent it slamming into his abdomen.  
“I still remember the compliment you gave me a few minute ago, General,” she hissed, even though she wasn’t that angry. “I consider you my equal, and you said I am better than any Jedi master. Know what that means? You’re better than them as well, if you are correct with your assumption about me.”  
The cyborg only found himself staring at her. She could tell he was angry about her slamming the door onto him, yet the remark she had made with it also astonished him. Before he could say anything more she flashed another grin before turning away and heading up the stairs, swinging her hips to and fro in a playfully seductive manner.  
“I think you and me will get along just fine, General,” she called down to him as she unlocked her room door. “Just fine…”  
Shutting the door behind her, she felt better than she had in a long time.


	4. Tis the Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a fortnight of training on Coruscant, an incident occurs in which both the General and the Commander reflect on.

**Sorry this took a bit longer to post compared to the other chapters. When I went to re-read what I published previously I found some spelling errors and the recurring problem of redundancy. I want to take more time from now on editing and revising before publishing. Expect longer waits for chapters, yet also higher quality reading material free from writing blunders.**

**Also, feel free to review, praise, or critique. A Guest reviewer sent me a helpful assessment on a mistake I made in chapter 3. Thank you, whoever you are. That’s why I’m now taking more time on each chapter I write. Troll reviews will promptly be deleted.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 4~Tis the Way

Each night after lightsaber training, Grievous would lay down in his bed, looking up at the ceiling as the room became darker from the sky of Coruscant and contemplate what had happened. He would think about how he could improve, how he could become a better tactician, how to deal with cronies in negotiations (Gunray came to his mind), what he was fighting for, but most often than these things, he thought about the Commander, his to-be partner in crime.

            Just thinking about her, especially as lightsaber training progressed, made him feel warmer. She reminded him so much of Ronderu, his lover he had lost in the Huk war, that seeing her combat Dooku flooded him with memories of he and Roderu fighting side-by-side against that infernal insectoid race. Ventress embodied the qualities of Ronderu like no other female he had seen. Ruthlessness, tactical, courageous, and able to take shit and still keep standing on her feet.

            The comparison of Ronderu and Ventress brought back the thought of lightsaber training with her and Dooku here on Coruscant. Thinking about it just made him pull the blanket up his body further. How cold and sadistic Dooku could be during instruction, especially to the Commander! While if Grievous had simply screwed up on an instruction the Count would simply narrow his eyes and call him a childish insult, with Ventress, it was borderline _abuse_.

            If Ventress were to screw up, the Count would look at her in disgust and murmur derogatory slogans under his breath. Even more often, he would hit or slap her, telling her she was an insult in the name of the Sith. A week had passed, and the way he treated her became even more appalling. If Ventress never positioned herself correctly or even do something as small as trip forward a little, the Count would almost become wrathful, and forced her to work much harder than Grievous was expected to do. Not that he was easy on the General, but Dooku never inflicted physical harm on him.

            Grievous could only stand there and watch in horror and she was sometimes force lifted into the air and slammed into the wall, or being smacked on the cheek hard enough once to cause her nose to bleed. Watching this rain down on the young, capable Sith made him feel pity deep inside. Each day after training and practice he would console her and they would chat for a few minutes before heading to their rooms. She seemed to enjoy his company, and he in hers. Did she see in him an ally? What he saw in her was the warrior spirit and a woman who fought tooth and nail. Did she see anything in him? In his opinion, he didn’t think Ventress had to subservient to anyone.

            He recapped on that morning’s session, where he finally stood his ground and up to Dooku. The assassin, who was doing a practice-run with him and fell to the ground when trying to aim for a plastic dummy hidden behind another, was suddenly Force-lifted into the air and brought, levitating and shaking in front of the Count. The General remembered the fury in the Count’s eyes and the way he squeezed his hands into fists made him look like a bully striking for revenge.

            Seeing this act of viciousness put upon the female Sith brought him in front of a vindictive Huk, its claws around the neck of his mother—squeezing her breathless. He could only stand there and watch, as he barely knew how to possess and use a firearm. She was far off, out of the forest where their terracotta house resided and dragged onto the coastline into a colony of the quickly gathering Huks. He could only stand there, screaming and crying for them to let her go, as his father attempted to blast at the heads of the infernal insects. It seemed to be a split second his father went from being successful at doing so to having a spiked claw burrowed within his chest as his body was slowly dragged along the surf toward the cruel ocean, his mothers’ dying, bleeding form pulled closely behind.

            _And he had stood there. Watching. His younger sisters were in their home, snuggled innocently as a faithful trio under a blanket—asleep and smiling at the kisses their mother had deposited on their foreheads just a couple hours back, bidding them sweet dreams. And he had been there on the beach, watching their parents being mauled and killed by a group of the insects._

_He had screamed, wailed, and sobbed more than any other individual who lost a loved one. He had bitten his bottom lip clean through, drawing blood in superfluous amounts all over his chin and chest. By this time, a couple other Kaleesh had heard his earsplitting cries and ran over toward him, eyeing the blood on the surface of the water and asked him what had happened. He had tried his best to try to explain the heartbreak of the death of his parents, but sobs racked his throat and his lungs burned. They attempted to comfort him and share their condolences, yet there was nothing they could do. Hearing the wailing of a child mourning his parents or the screams of a dying loved one became all-too familiar._

_From that day on, he swore on an oath to the gods that—in the name of his people—he would strike back and be victorious against the Huk…against anything that became a threat to his own kind. He would perspire blood of he had to reach his goal…anything but the constant grief and losses that multitudes of Kaleesh were experiencing and fighting against._

_He was only ten years old, and very, very scared._

He couldn’t let her be abused and treated like this.

            “By the Force, you insolent girl,” Dooku spoke in a violent, quiet tone. “I taught you to be a tactical combatant, not a mongrel pup!” With that, he applied pressure into her chest and threw her onto the ground as if she were a ragdoll. Gasping for air and clutching her breast, she began to stand up and nod fervently. However, before she could say “Yes, master”, Grievous held his hand up and locked his citron-colored eyes into the Count’s brown, hazy ones.

            “I am not sure what the reasoning is behind such unforgiving comportments,” he stated clearly. “Why is it when I, a cyborg that had mechanical parts that can be pulled off so easily, you only give me a scolding, yet with her you must assault her almost to the point of it being domestic violence?”

            He didn’t realize the Commander was now looking at him in awe, her watery blue eyes glancing at his before she was again Force-pushed down on the ground by Dooku.

            “You’re standing up for your colleague. That is good. You two will go far with that. However…” he looked at Ventress, laying as still as a boulder and looking more and more terrified. “I hope you don’t get accustomed to it when it comes to righteous authority.” The pressure of the Force was suddenly removed from Ventress, who sat up slowly and surely. “You’re lucky I’m not Force pushing you into the wall and pulling your goddamn organs out of your chest cavity.” He seemed to be taking great delight in describing such brutish tortures. “She is a Sith and you are a Separatist. The arts and skills she learns she must let her body control and take hold of as if it’s something natural.”

            “Her body won’t take it naturally if you keep inflicting damage upon it.”

            There was now a silence thick enough to fog windows. Ventress was laying there, looking at him, not sure how feel. The General stood his high ground, his 7’1” form casting a shadow over her, as if encapsulating and enabling her under his protection.

            Dooku found himself staring in the eyes of the General’s once again, seeing if he was really tough enough to stand up and not steer his eyes away, which showed cowardice and defeat. The General remained so for over a minute, before Dooku finally squinted and let out the faintest of sighs.

            “You are lucky we have special relations, Grievous, or you wouldn’t even be alive for another second.” His attention turned to Ventress. “Get off the floor. The sun is still up in the sky, isn’t it?”

            The rest of the training period had been excellent, and it was then both Commander and General realized Dooku was no longer being volatile with her. A quick insult here and there and a patronizing statement, but nothing worse. When they were both dropped off again and they walked silently side-by-side in the hangar and up to the lobby, she finally stopped and gazed up at him, an awkward smile spread on her face.

            “That was err…brave,” she stated inelegantly, rubbing her hand along the back of her neck in a similar mannerism. “I don’t know many who would—ow!” She pulled her digits swiftly away from her neck and grimaced in discomfort. “Godammit! That bastard really got me. C-could you check to see if there any bruises or bloody marks back there?”

            The General ever-so gently pushed apart the miniscule white hairs on her nape. He heard a quiet yet sharp intake of breath emanate from the Commander as he prodded around, moving back a few extra stray hairs and seeing a small, coagulated scab with obvious traces of dried blood. Inspecting her more, he saw a couple purple bruises that looked quite fresh and painful. He lowered his gaze and saw a small, black mark on her upper back, which didn’t look like a bruise at all—but more like some kind of ceremonial tattoo. If she had not said anything, he would have continued to ponder over it.

            “You’re bleeding, Commander,” he stated, moving her hairs gently over her wounds. You’ve also got a couple contusions just a little below your nape.” She cursed under her breath and mumbled dialogue that sounded blasphemous, although he couldn’t be quite sure.

 Seeing a red twinkle in the corner of his eye, he lifted his hand toward his mask to inspect his digits. There, settled on the pointer finger of his right hand, was a ruby glint of blood, which ran slowly down in a linear trail. It would have been nothing noticeable—yet his milky, bone-colored cybernetics made it seem like something much more. He twitched his fingers softly, watching carefully as the blood trailed onto his knuckle before it formed a small drop and fell onto the ornate carpeting below.

It was strange to be seeing and feeling something organic against his artificial body, which he had gotten quite used to inhabiting despite how painful it sometimes became. He could never isolate the idea that his body was completely cybernetic, as there was no way it felt similar to his previous carbon-based self—not that this was a completely bad thing. He had more flexibility and durability than he had before the automations, which pleased him greatly. However, seeing this small sample of something that had once been a large part of him was making him feel…lost. It was blood that connected a culture together. It was blood that connected a friendship. In his culture, blood was regarded as something sacred—as it was seen as the roots of connection, reproduction, and of course, family. These mere thoughts caused his entire frame to faintly shudder.

            In his peripheral vision, he saw she had been watching curiously this entire time. She was soon right in front of him, waving her hand in front of his hazy eyes.

            “Hey. Um, are you okay?” she asked, hesitantly. Hearing her voice, he cleared his thoughts and lowered his hand back down to his side. He cursed to himself for being seen in an act of vulnerability. He, the Supreme Commander of the Confederate Droid Armies, could not be seen as an emotional weakling.

            “Yes,” he nearly hissed, dawning his cape over his body. “I was just thinking about...maybe you should see a medic about those injuries, Commander,” he said, swiftly changing the subject.

            She looked at him in near disbelief. “Are they that bad?” she asked genuinely.

            He shrugged. “They look pretty bad. If I were you, I’d disinfect them…or maybe I wouldn’t. I have a feeling you’ve gotten much worse before.” In a subtle attempt at dark humor, she caught on and gave a mix between a gasp and a bout of laughter.

            “Tis the way of the Dark Side,” she purred, continuing to ascend the stairs, then hesitated “When you take on occupations such as mine or yours, you’re just asking for it…I guess.”

            They walked up to their rooms together, with her nodding curtly and bidding him goodnight. He nodded and spoke similar intentions as he watched her gracefully ascend the stairs, looking back at him a couple times as she did so.

            He shivered just thinking about it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, staring up at the starry ceiling and listening in on the faint, classical music that played on a radio from the room down below him. It was strange to think that because of his occupation, this could be the last night he had to live or he’d survive through it all. Then again, this was the exact same thing he was told when he was a mere youngling before he could even learn to pick up a rifle.

            He had cheated death once. Some may have found his choices for the cybernetics cowardly, yet the folks who spoke of it negatively were ones who had not had their limbs and lower body burned and torn to shreds in a plane accident. Living, immobile and hardly breathing in a bacta tank for the rest of his life (which would have only consisted for a year or less) was an experience he never wanted to stay in. Those few months submerged in an emerald green liquid, only overlooking a small Geonosian underground laboratory full of jaded scientists nearly made him crazy.

            Thinking back on it, the mere smell of _bacta_ was repulsive. He was glad to be rid of it when his body had been fished out of the tank and lain onto an operating table. There, he was met in the face of both a surgeon and a researcher, who prodded him carefully and calmly. He had been Geonosian like the others in this underground facility, and while most belonging to the race had unnerving, almost borderline creepy facial features due to their rather vindictive personalities, this one seemed more laid back and tranquil.

            The General suddenly felt a chill behind him, the blackness of the ceiling rippling and becoming lighter, until he realized there were lights shining down directly on him. The sound of classical music left his auto-receptors and vanished far in the distance.

            _He couldn’t move._

_He was looking directly into an overhead light in a pitch-white room. His breathing was not even of normal recognition, but came in choking hilts and deep, bubbling gasps. He was raked with chills, as he shuddered against something even cooler behind him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. What was left of his limbs were restrained beside him…he couldn’t even feel what was below his chest. Was there even anything left in that area?_

_His heartbeat! He heard it loud and clear in his eardrums. He was still alive, thank the gods! He didn’t believe in any gods but he was feeling too relieved to care. Wait, relief? If he was thinking at this stage, other than just focusing on how his body was or resorting to the most primal of fears, was there a chance for him?_

_He heard a door slide open automatically before hearing the scuffle of droid feet and the hums of an organic. Brief, conversing voices entered before the door closed again and the room dissolved into near-silence. He just lay there, listening to the soft humming and the sound of small, metal instruments clinking gently together as they were gathered into place. As the droids began to converse about his condition to each other, he attempted to listen in before he was racked with a pang of gasps and chokes. He heard their whispers stop and the sound of footsteps heading in his direction before the face of a Geonosian appeared above him, looming over his vulnerable self and gazing at him, thoughtfully._

_“Well, well, how are we doing here?” the male asked, inspecting his face and burns. “You must be glad to be out of that bacta tank, eh? Smells like absolute hell, it does.” The Geonosian nodded, as if agreeing with himself._

_“I’m an assistant of Poggle the Less--Poggle,” he stammered. “Poggle’s been a real help to me—us. It’s because of him I’m back working in the field of science and medical.” He kept inspecting and began to hum a gargled tune before speaking once again. “Oh—my name’s Sarr by the way.”_

_Sarr._

_“Your agreement to be fitted with cybernetics was an excellent choice. The craftsmanship of Geonosian engineers and designers are like nobody else! Nobody! Not even the Neimoidians can compete with us.”_

_He couldn’t speak. Feeling Sarr’s touches on his scarred face made him wince. “For being in the middle of such a brutal plane crash your face doesn’t look…” The doctor finally stopped his pinchings and proddings and pushed the table to that he was laying at a 75-degree angle upward. He felt the straps keeping him to the table push into his burnt flesh, a choke bubbling from his throat. It hurt. It hurt!_

_“Speaking of which…” the doctor lilted. “Your droi—cyber parts just came in a day ago. Would you—would you like to see them?”_

_He gave the faintest of nods. He was relieved to have the doctor catch this small, pitiful excuse of communication, as he already felt weakened attempting to do so._

_“Excellent!” The doctor suddenly got behind the apparatus he was laying on and pushed him forward into the hallway, the three medic droids pursuing closely behind. The chamber seemed compact and crowded, with Geonosians of different ranks of medic and scientific research under their belts looking at him inquisitively. They stood along the hallway like attentive soldiers, parting way like a sea. He heard an occasional gasp and a mumble, the only one he caught amidst it all was “Pretty eyes…”._

_Sarr took a sudden right-hand turn into an empty antechamber lit by electric blue illuminations. He felt a small sting on his face as he was lead away from it and entered a rather dark room connected to it. It was very creepy, with its dark green tiled floors and matching-colored walls, he felt like he was in a sacred area. Standing side-by-side were two engineers, their hands behind their backs and smiling like two devils._

_He heard the sound of water dripping._

_“Ah, greetings!” one cadenced. “We know exactly why you’re here!” The engineer seemed to be talking more to Sarr than he. The doctor stood alongside the two engineers and peered into a unit that dropped down into the floor, lighten by a jade lamp on the ceiling. He heard the doctor start to laugh quietly before showing a broad grin. “It looks marvelous. This must have taken you both ages!”_

_“We’ve had assistance along the way of doing so,” the second engineer said quietly, as if afraid of showing a weakness. “We were inspired by the design and intricacy of the Krath war droid, which are now nearly obsolete saving for a specimen Poggle managed to snag from a group of Jawas.”_

_“Jawas!?” Sarr laughed. “Oh my! I’ve heard Krath droids are very valuable. Granted I do not see the resemblance, but this looks much more intricate and lissome.” He turned to look at the second engineer. “Bring Grievous over here and have him look at it.”_

_The Geonosian scuttled over behind Grievous and gently pushed him forward, tilting the device he was bound to at a 45 degree angle forward, watching unsteadily as Grievous’ orange eyes made contact with what was laying below._

_He saw his mask! No, an imitation of his mask. They had managed to get the details of his original just right save for the muumuu teeth that decorated the bottom where his chin would have originally rested—then realized they incorporated a similar detail where his vocalizer would be placed. There was even a faint chisel here and there like on his original, but other than that was as smooth as can be. He would have found himself smiling of the action of doing so wasn’t such a painful task._

_The rest however, appeared to be beyond estranged, awkward, and crude. He admired the lithness they had given it like his original self, yet it wasn’t him at the same time. He felt spooked seeing a shell that would soon become his identity—who he would be recognized as. At least one of flesh and blood didn’t have to worry about such a thing unless their ego got ahead of them and they became the puppet of another individual. This? This was something almost beyond recognition of what could be described as “identity”.  It was strange. It was chilling. It was—_

_“Well…” a voice spoke from the silence. “What do you think?”_

_He continued to scrutinize all the details of his cybernetics, not caring that the doctor was on a tight schedule and had to be somewhere else at this given moment. He looked calmly back at his mask before running his eyes down to the chest, abdomen, crotch, legs, and feet. He was suddenly pulled away from the spectacle, a testy engineer standing impatiently in front of him._

_At once, he began to choke and gurgle, his whole frame giving the faintest of shakes as he attempted to communicate. Sarr quirked a non-visible eyebrow and looked on, curiously. He felt all his energy go into trying to go for the goal he wanted to achieve for all these months—to speak.  He closed his eyes tightly and tried to ration his thoughts, feeling as if he had made a horrible mistake. Opening them back up again, he stared dead in the eyes of both the engineers, and choked his response._

_“Hideous.”_

            The shocked faces of the engineers soon began to fade away, the angered voice of the doctor disappearing along with them as he felt the greenness of the room began to dissipate and he saw once again a starry ceiling. The sounds of leaky water that once consumed the room got louder, carrying a heavier bass and coming on in slower intervals before it finally disappeared with one last, loud, thunderous drip and completely ceasing. As he lay there, the feeling of his own body soon came back to him—the sound of classical music he could no longer detect, but was instead replaced with a faint buzzing.

            He felt a sudden chill encapsulate his frame. Looking down, he saw both the sheets and the quilts had been violently disarrayed and tangled beyond recognition. He had left scratches on the headboard behind him and even some on his silver chest and thighs. Hesitantly he sat up and picked up the bedspread, clutching at it fervently and spreading it across his bread as neatly as possible. When he finished the miniscule task he stumbled back under them in a hap-hazard manner and relished the comfort the blankets brought upon him. He had a feeling this was something he was going to have to get used to this. He had these bouts of attacks before, but this one had stirred something within him that made him feel ill-mannered and repulsed.

            This one had made him feel even more susceptible to ill-fates than before. Yet, it was something that would stick and that he’d either have to accept or fight independently, like a banshee, to get over it.

            Tis the way of a Confederate warlord.

…

            Ventress was lying in bed on her side, naked and savoring the warmth of the thick quilts above her. Whenever she lay down she usually fell asleep soon afterwards, the training mostly faint memories she wanted deported out of her mind. However, today had been quite interesting, and it was because of her cyborg comrade.

            He had stood up for her. For the first time in years, somebody stood up for her and attempted to protect her. While normally she would find this demeaning on her part, this instance was different. He had stood up to the Count, himself, which made her realize he was more brave and sturdy than she had thought. It was afterwards when she found herself staring into his dazzling, golden eyes did she realize there was a sense of camaraderie and connection. It was a blissful feeling she hadn’t felt ever since she had been with her master, Ky Narec.

            With memories of Narec coming back to her, she closed her eyes she remembered the first time she felt a sense of chumminess with him. She had been with him for about a year, and she realized he was one the most valiant, courageous individuals she had ever seen, all while protecting her and making sure she kept her morals high. He had long ago abandoned the laws and instruction of the Jedi and raised her and himself to be independent without succumbing to the powers of a fascist government.

            There was one day, when she was barely fourteen years old, when he brought home for her a beautiful, white rose, its petals the color of pearls and possessing the most wonderful, crisp scent. He managed to obtain in from the only floral shop in the area, which was no longer selling bouquets due to the immense shortages of many resources.  She originally wanted to wear it in her hair, but she also wanted it to thrive as long as possible, so she rested it in a bowl of water, where it lasted for many weeks. When it finally dried out, she collected the petals and stuck them between two pieces of Ratattakian papyrus, which she stored in a book she had recently bought worth half her bank account.

            “I still have those petals…” she murmured to herself, looking at her suitcase. She closed her eyes again and thought about the time she and Narec finally made love. She had turned seventeen, and she finally felt the time was right.

            She remembered the sweat they perspired together, that intimate sense of connection, the feelings in the Force. She felt as if their spirits had become one, like waves slowly undulating. Even though they had felt a connection beforehand, they were always busying themselves out on the battlefield, watching blood flow onto it like roaring floods. It was truly one of the most awful occasions to witness, but their wonderful, passionate lovemaking put them into such states of euphoria and union, they forgot during those minutes that they were in a terrible war against a totalitarian government. Their heartbeats had climbed to the same rates, they both reached their peak at the same time…everything in that union had synchronized perfectly together, and it was because they matched. It wasn’t shallow lust or a quick fuck just for the fun of it. It was spiritually involved. There had been the sense of connection. There was the sense that they were a key and a lock, and this exhilarating bliss had been meant for them all this time.

            Ever since Narec’s death, Ventress had been “unrestrained”, so to speak. After she had been taken under Dooku’s wing she had bedded so many men and women she lost track of how many she had slept with in her proclivities. She didn’t even remember who half of them were other than the fact that none of them even felt half as right as she and Narec did. She had no idea, to this day, why she had gotten herself sexually involved even if she wasn’t in it for pleasure. Did she want to feel that connection that she and her master had shared? It made her ponder, and it sure as hell didn’t give her the connection. The only thing it did was give her the affiliation of “whoredom” by many nobles and soldiers, which made her feel sick and lonely.

            Then there was the General. She remembered when she first made eye contact with him in the room with all those people, that small pull in the Force. It had been rather strange, and right when she felt that pull she had no idea what it meant. She had felt it so long ago she could not trace it back to where and when. It was when she had been discussing her life on Ratattak with Lin Nova did she remember it.

            Then there were the verbal sparrings. Even though they could be insulting at times, she could sense he appreciated her company, even if it was for short periods of time when they had it free. Most of the time they didn’t speak, but they would bid themselves goodnight, so that was a start.

            When Dooku wasn’t infiltrating on their training and acting violently towards her, she realized they were quite matched in combat. When they had practice duels, it no longer looked violent or calculating. She would watch him with Dooku, as his body would move in elegant, graceful, motions before becoming the warrior he really was. She’d watch him, while they dueled, as he would stretch his limbs and almost appear to be dancing (which the Count had dubbed “The Unorthodox”). It was truly a beautiful sight in her eyes.

            And then he had stood up for her, in front of the Count, standing his full posture and keeping eye contact with the smaller, yet more powerful male the entire time. She felt like somebody cared for her wellbeing, and had taken the chance of risking their own life as well doing so. The thought of that and the hopes and fears of their future alliance made her shiver. She pulled the blankets up above her and curled her body into a ball—as if she was back in the womb. She rested her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes.

            For the first time in months, she experienced a full day sans a traumatic flashback.

**Sorry this took a bit longer to post compared to the other chapters. When I went to re-read what I published previously I found some spelling errors and the recurring problem of redundancy. I want to take more time from now on editing and revising before publishing. Expect longer waits for chapters, yet also higher quality reading material free from writing blunders.**

**Also, feel free to review, praise, or critique. A Guest reviewer sent me a helpful assessment on a mistake I made in chapter 3. Thank you, whoever you are. That’s why I’m now taking more time on each chapter I write. Troll reviews will promptly be deleted.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 4~Tis the Way

Each night after lightsaber training, Grievous would lay down in his bed, looking up at the ceiling as the room became darker from the sky of Coruscant and contemplate what had happened. He would think about how he could improve, how he could become a better tactician, how to deal with cronies in negotiations (Gunray came to his mind), what he was fighting for, but most often than these things, he thought about the Commander, his to-be partner in crime.

            Just thinking about her, especially as lightsaber training progressed, made him feel warmer. She reminded him so much of Ronderu, his lover he had lost in the Huk war, that seeing her combat Dooku flooded him with memories of he and Roderu fighting side-by-side against that infernal insectoid race. Ventress embodied the qualities of Ronderu like no other female he had seen. Ruthlessness, tactical, courageous, and able to take shit and still keep standing on her feet.

            The comparison of Ronderu and Ventress brought back the thought of lightsaber training with her and Dooku here on Coruscant. Thinking about it just made him pull the blanket up his body further. How cold and sadistic Dooku could be during instruction, especially to the Commander! While if Grievous had simply screwed up on an instruction the Count would simply narrow his eyes and call him a childish insult, with Ventress, it was borderline _abuse_.

            If Ventress were to screw up, the Count would look at her in disgust and murmur derogatory slogans under his breath. Even more often, he would hit or slap her, telling her she was an insult in the name of the Sith. A week had passed, and the way he treated her became even more appalling. If Ventress never positioned herself correctly or even do something as small as trip forward a little, the Count would almost become wrathful, and forced her to work much harder than Grievous was expected to do. Not that he was easy on the General, but Dooku never inflicted physical harm on him.

            Grievous could only stand there and watch in horror and she was sometimes force lifted into the air and slammed into the wall, or being smacked on the cheek hard enough once to cause her nose to bleed. Watching this rain down on the young, capable Sith made him feel pity deep inside. Each day after training and practice he would console her and they would chat for a few minutes before heading to their rooms. She seemed to enjoy his company, and he in hers. Did she see in him an ally? What he saw in her was the warrior spirit and a woman who fought tooth and nail. Did she see anything in him? In his opinion, he didn’t think Ventress had to subservient to anyone.

            He recapped on that morning’s session, where he finally stood his ground and up to Dooku. The assassin, who was doing a practice-run with him and fell to the ground when trying to aim for a plastic dummy hidden behind another, was suddenly Force-lifted into the air and brought, levitating and shaking in front of the Count. The General remembered the fury in the Count’s eyes and the way he squeezed his hands into fists made him look like a bully striking for revenge.

            Seeing this act of viciousness put upon the female Sith brought him in front of a vindictive Huk, its claws around the neck of his mother—squeezing her breathless. He could only stand there and watch, as he barely knew how to possess and use a firearm. She was far off, out of the forest where their terracotta house resided and dragged onto the coastline into a colony of the quickly gathering Huks. He could only stand there, screaming and crying for them to let her go, as his father attempted to blast at the heads of the infernal insects. It seemed to be a split second his father went from being successful at doing so to having a spiked claw burrowed within his chest as his body was slowly dragged along the surf toward the cruel ocean, his mothers’ dying, bleeding form pulled closely behind.

            _And he had stood there. Watching. His younger sisters were in their home, snuggled innocently as a faithful trio under a blanket—asleep and smiling at the kisses their mother had deposited on their foreheads just a couple hours back, bidding them sweet dreams. And he had been there on the beach, watching their parents being mauled and killed by a group of the insects._

_He had screamed, wailed, and sobbed more than any other individual who lost a loved one. He had bitten his bottom lip clean through, drawing blood in superfluous amounts all over his chin and chest. By this time, a couple other Kaleesh had heard his earsplitting cries and ran over toward him, eyeing the blood on the surface of the water and asked him what had happened. He had tried his best to try to explain the heartbreak of the death of his parents, but sobs racked his throat and his lungs burned. They attempted to comfort him and share their condolences, yet there was nothing they could do. Hearing the wailing of a child mourning his parents or the screams of a dying loved one became all-too familiar._

_From that day on, he swore on an oath to the gods that—in the name of his people—he would strike back and be victorious against the Huk…against anything that became a threat to his own kind. He would perspire blood of he had to reach his goal…anything but the constant grief and losses that multitudes of Kaleesh were experiencing and fighting against._

_He was only ten years old, and very, very scared._

He couldn’t let her be abused and treated like this.

            “By the Force, you insolent girl,” Dooku spoke in a violent, quiet tone. “I taught you to be a tactical combatant, not a mongrel pup!” With that, he applied pressure into her chest and threw her onto the ground as if she were a ragdoll. Gasping for air and clutching her breast, she began to stand up and nod fervently. However, before she could say “Yes, master”, Grievous held his hand up and locked his citron-colored eyes into the Count’s brown, hazy ones.

            “I am not sure what the reasoning is behind such unforgiving comportments,” he stated clearly. “Why is it when I, a cyborg that had mechanical parts that can be pulled off so easily, you only give me a scolding, yet with her you must assault her almost to the point of it being domestic violence?”

            He didn’t realize the Commander was now looking at him in awe, her watery blue eyes glancing at his before she was again Force-pushed down on the ground by Dooku.

            “You’re standing up for your colleague. That is good. You two will go far with that. However…” he looked at Ventress, laying as still as a boulder and looking more and more terrified. “I hope you don’t get accustomed to it when it comes to righteous authority.” The pressure of the Force was suddenly removed from Ventress, who sat up slowly and surely. “You’re lucky I’m not Force pushing you into the wall and pulling your goddamn organs out of your chest cavity.” He seemed to be taking great delight in describing such brutish tortures. “She is a Sith and you are a Separatist. The arts and skills she learns she must let her body control and take hold of as if it’s something natural.”

            “Her body won’t take it naturally if you keep inflicting damage upon it.”

            There was now a silence thick enough to fog windows. Ventress was laying there, looking at him, not sure how feel. The General stood his high ground, his 7’1” form casting a shadow over her, as if encapsulating and enabling her under his protection.

            Dooku found himself staring in the eyes of the General’s once again, seeing if he was really tough enough to stand up and not steer his eyes away, which showed cowardice and defeat. The General remained so for over a minute, before Dooku finally squinted and let out the faintest of sighs.

            “You are lucky we have special relations, Grievous, or you wouldn’t even be alive for another second.” His attention turned to Ventress. “Get off the floor. The sun is still up in the sky, isn’t it?”

            The rest of the training period had been excellent, and it was then both Commander and General realized Dooku was no longer being volatile with her. A quick insult here and there and a patronizing statement, but nothing worse. When they were both dropped off again and they walked silently side-by-side in the hangar and up to the lobby, she finally stopped and gazed up at him, an awkward smile spread on her face.

            “That was err…brave,” she stated inelegantly, rubbing her hand along the back of her neck in a similar mannerism. “I don’t know many who would—ow!” She pulled her digits swiftly away from her neck and grimaced in discomfort. “Godammit! That bastard really got me. C-could you check to see if there any bruises or bloody marks back there?”

            The General ever-so gently pushed apart the miniscule white hairs on her nape. He heard a quiet yet sharp intake of breath emanate from the Commander as he prodded around, moving back a few extra stray hairs and seeing a small, coagulated scab with obvious traces of dried blood. Inspecting her more, he saw a couple purple bruises that looked quite fresh and painful. He lowered his gaze and saw a small, black mark on her upper back, which didn’t look like a bruise at all—but more like some kind of ceremonial tattoo. If she had not said anything, he would have continued to ponder over it.

            “You’re bleeding, Commander,” he stated, moving her hairs gently over her wounds. You’ve also got a couple contusions just a little below your nape.” She cursed under her breath and mumbled dialogue that sounded blasphemous, although he couldn’t be quite sure.

 Seeing a red twinkle in the corner of his eye, he lifted his hand toward his mask to inspect his digits. There, settled on the pointer finger of his right hand, was a ruby glint of blood, which ran slowly down in a linear trail. It would have been nothing noticeable—yet his milky, bone-colored cybernetics made it seem like something much more. He twitched his fingers softly, watching carefully as the blood trailed onto his knuckle before it formed a small drop and fell onto the ornate carpeting below.

It was strange to be seeing and feeling something organic against his artificial body, which he had gotten quite used to inhabiting despite how painful it sometimes became. He could never isolate the idea that his body was completely cybernetic, as there was no way it felt similar to his previous carbon-based self—not that this was a completely bad thing. He had more flexibility and durability than he had before the automations, which pleased him greatly. However, seeing this small sample of something that had once been a large part of him was making him feel…lost. It was blood that connected a culture together. It was blood that connected a friendship. In his culture, blood was regarded as something sacred—as it was seen as the roots of connection, reproduction, and of course, family. These mere thoughts caused his entire frame to faintly shudder.

            In his peripheral vision, he saw she had been watching curiously this entire time. She was soon right in front of him, waving her hand in front of his hazy eyes.

            “Hey. Um, are you okay?” she asked, hesitantly. Hearing her voice, he cleared his thoughts and lowered his hand back down to his side. He cursed to himself for being seen in an act of vulnerability. He, the Supreme Commander of the Confederate Droid Armies, could not be seen as an emotional weakling.

            “Yes,” he nearly hissed, dawning his cape over his body. “I was just thinking about...maybe you should see a medic about those injuries, Commander,” he said, swiftly changing the subject.

            She looked at him in near disbelief. “Are they that bad?” she asked genuinely.

            He shrugged. “They look pretty bad. If I were you, I’d disinfect them…or maybe I wouldn’t. I have a feeling you’ve gotten much worse before.” In a subtle attempt at dark humor, she caught on and gave a mix between a gasp and a bout of laughter.

            “Tis the way of the Dark Side,” she purred, continuing to ascend the stairs, then hesitated “When you take on occupations such as mine or yours, you’re just asking for it…I guess.”

            They walked up to their rooms together, with her nodding curtly and bidding him goodnight. He nodded and spoke similar intentions as he watched her gracefully ascend the stairs, looking back at him a couple times as she did so.

            He shivered just thinking about it. He pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, staring up at the starry ceiling and listening in on the faint, classical music that played on a radio from the room down below him. It was strange to think that because of his occupation, this could be the last night he had to live or he’d survive through it all. Then again, this was the exact same thing he was told when he was a mere youngling before he could even learn to pick up a rifle.

            He had cheated death once. Some may have found his choices for the cybernetics cowardly, yet the folks who spoke of it negatively were ones who had not had their limbs and lower body burned and torn to shreds in a plane accident. Living, immobile and hardly breathing in a bacta tank for the rest of his life (which would have only consisted for a year or less) was an experience he never wanted to stay in. Those few months submerged in an emerald green liquid, only overlooking a small Geonosian underground laboratory full of jaded scientists nearly made him crazy.

            Thinking back on it, the mere smell of _bacta_ was repulsive. He was glad to be rid of it when his body had been fished out of the tank and lain onto an operating table. There, he was met in the face of both a surgeon and a researcher, who prodded him carefully and calmly. He had been Geonosian like the others in this underground facility, and while most belonging to the race had unnerving, almost borderline creepy facial features due to their rather vindictive personalities, this one seemed more laid back and tranquil.

            The General suddenly felt a chill behind him, the blackness of the ceiling rippling and becoming lighter, until he realized there were lights shining down directly on him. The sound of classical music left his auto-receptors and vanished far in the distance.

            _He couldn’t move._

_He was looking directly into an overhead light in a pitch-white room. His breathing was not even of normal recognition, but came in choking hilts and deep, bubbling gasps. He was raked with chills, as he shuddered against something even cooler behind him. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. What was left of his limbs were restrained beside him…he couldn’t even feel what was below his chest. Was there even anything left in that area?_

_His heartbeat! He heard it loud and clear in his eardrums. He was still alive, thank the gods! He didn’t believe in any gods but he was feeling too relieved to care. Wait, relief? If he was thinking at this stage, other than just focusing on how his body was or resorting to the most primal of fears, was there a chance for him?_

_He heard a door slide open automatically before hearing the scuffle of droid feet and the hums of an organic. Brief, conversing voices entered before the door closed again and the room dissolved into near-silence. He just lay there, listening to the soft humming and the sound of small, metal instruments clinking gently together as they were gathered into place. As the droids began to converse about his condition to each other, he attempted to listen in before he was racked with a pang of gasps and chokes. He heard their whispers stop and the sound of footsteps heading in his direction before the face of a Geonosian appeared above him, looming over his vulnerable self and gazing at him, thoughtfully._

_“Well, well, how are we doing here?” the male asked, inspecting his face and burns. “You must be glad to be out of that bacta tank, eh? Smells like absolute hell, it does.” The Geonosian nodded, as if agreeing with himself._

_“I’m an assistant of Poggle the Less--Poggle,” he stammered. “Poggle’s been a real help to me—us. It’s because of him I’m back working in the field of science and medical.” He kept inspecting and began to hum a gargled tune before speaking once again. “Oh—my name’s Sarr by the way.”_

_Sarr._

_“Your agreement to be fitted with cybernetics was an excellent choice. The craftsmanship of Geonosian engineers and designers are like nobody else! Nobody! Not even the Neimoidians can compete with us.”_

_He couldn’t speak. Feeling Sarr’s touches on his scarred face made him wince. “For being in the middle of such a brutal plane crash your face doesn’t look…” The doctor finally stopped his pinchings and proddings and pushed the table to that he was laying at a 75-degree angle upward. He felt the straps keeping him to the table push into his burnt flesh, a choke bubbling from his throat. It hurt. It hurt!_

_“Speaking of which…” the doctor lilted. “Your droi—cyber parts just came in a day ago. Would you—would you like to see them?”_

_He gave the faintest of nods. He was relieved to have the doctor catch this small, pitiful excuse of communication, as he already felt weakened attempting to do so._

_“Excellent!” The doctor suddenly got behind the apparatus he was laying on and pushed him forward into the hallway, the three medic droids pursuing closely behind. The chamber seemed compact and crowded, with Geonosians of different ranks of medic and scientific research under their belts looking at him inquisitively. They stood along the hallway like attentive soldiers, parting way like a sea. He heard an occasional gasp and a mumble, the only one he caught amidst it all was “Pretty eyes…”._

_Sarr took a sudden right-hand turn into an empty antechamber lit by electric blue illuminations. He felt a small sting on his face as he was lead away from it and entered a rather dark room connected to it. It was very creepy, with its dark green tiled floors and matching-colored walls, he felt like he was in a sacred area. Standing side-by-side were two engineers, their hands behind their backs and smiling like two devils._

_He heard the sound of water dripping._

_“Ah, greetings!” one cadenced. “We know exactly why you’re here!” The engineer seemed to be talking more to Sarr than he. The doctor stood alongside the two engineers and peered into a unit that dropped down into the floor, lighten by a jade lamp on the ceiling. He heard the doctor start to laugh quietly before showing a broad grin. “It looks marvelous. This must have taken you both ages!”_

_“We’ve had assistance along the way of doing so,” the second engineer said quietly, as if afraid of showing a weakness. “We were inspired by the design and intricacy of the Krath war droid, which are now nearly obsolete saving for a specimen Poggle managed to snag from a group of Jawas.”_

_“Jawas!?” Sarr laughed. “Oh my! I’ve heard Krath droids are very valuable. Granted I do not see the resemblance, but this looks much more intricate and lissome.” He turned to look at the second engineer. “Bring Grievous over here and have him look at it.”_

_The Geonosian scuttled over behind Grievous and gently pushed him forward, tilting the device he was bound to at a 45 degree angle forward, watching unsteadily as Grievous’ orange eyes made contact with what was laying below._

_He saw his mask! No, an imitation of his mask. They had managed to get the details of his original just right save for the muumuu teeth that decorated the bottom where his chin would have originally rested—then realized they incorporated a similar detail where his vocalizer would be placed. There was even a faint chisel here and there like on his original, but other than that was as smooth as can be. He would have found himself smiling of the action of doing so wasn’t such a painful task._

_The rest however, appeared to be beyond estranged, awkward, and crude. He admired the lithness they had given it like his original self, yet it wasn’t him at the same time. He felt spooked seeing a shell that would soon become his identity—who he would be recognized as. At least one of flesh and blood didn’t have to worry about such a thing unless their ego got ahead of them and they became the puppet of another individual. This? This was something almost beyond recognition of what could be described as “identity”.  It was strange. It was chilling. It was—_

_“Well…” a voice spoke from the silence. “What do you think?”_

_He continued to scrutinize all the details of his cybernetics, not caring that the doctor was on a tight schedule and had to be somewhere else at this given moment. He looked calmly back at his mask before running his eyes down to the chest, abdomen, crotch, legs, and feet. He was suddenly pulled away from the spectacle, a testy engineer standing impatiently in front of him._

_At once, he began to choke and gurgle, his whole frame giving the faintest of shakes as he attempted to communicate. Sarr quirked a non-visible eyebrow and looked on, curiously. He felt all his energy go into trying to go for the goal he wanted to achieve for all these months—to speak.  He closed his eyes tightly and tried to ration his thoughts, feeling as if he had made a horrible mistake. Opening them back up again, he stared dead in the eyes of both the engineers, and choked his response._

_“Hideous.”_

            The shocked faces of the engineers soon began to fade away, the angered voice of the doctor disappearing along with them as he felt the greenness of the room began to dissipate and he saw once again a starry ceiling. The sounds of leaky water that once consumed the room got louder, carrying a heavier bass and coming on in slower intervals before it finally disappeared with one last, loud, thunderous drip and completely ceasing. As he lay there, the feeling of his own body soon came back to him—the sound of classical music he could no longer detect, but was instead replaced with a faint buzzing.

            He felt a sudden chill encapsulate his frame. Looking down, he saw both the sheets and the quilts had been violently disarrayed and tangled beyond recognition. He had left scratches on the headboard behind him and even some on his silver chest and thighs. Hesitantly he sat up and picked up the bedspread, clutching at it fervently and spreading it across his bread as neatly as possible. When he finished the miniscule task he stumbled back under them in a hap-hazard manner and relished the comfort the blankets brought upon him. He had a feeling this was something he was going to have to get used to this. He had these bouts of attacks before, but this one had stirred something within him that made him feel ill-mannered and repulsed.

            This one had made him feel even more susceptible to ill-fates than before. Yet, it was something that would stick and that he’d either have to accept or fight independently, like a banshee, to get over it.

            Tis the way of a Confederate warlord.

…

            Ventress was lying in bed on her side, naked and savoring the warmth of the thick quilts above her. Whenever she lay down she usually fell asleep soon afterwards, the training mostly faint memories she wanted deported out of her mind. However, today had been quite interesting, and it was because of her cyborg comrade.

            He had stood up for her. For the first time in years, somebody stood up for her and attempted to protect her. While normally she would find this demeaning on her part, this instance was different. He had stood up to the Count, himself, which made her realize he was more brave and sturdy than she had thought. It was afterwards when she found herself staring into his dazzling, golden eyes did she realize there was a sense of camaraderie and connection. It was a blissful feeling she hadn’t felt ever since she had been with her master, Ky Narec.

            With memories of Narec coming back to her, she closed her eyes she remembered the first time she felt a sense of chumminess with him. She had been with him for about a year, and she realized he was one the most valiant, courageous individuals she had ever seen, all while protecting her and making sure she kept her morals high. He had long ago abandoned the laws and instruction of the Jedi and raised her and himself to be independent without succumbing to the powers of a fascist government.

            There was one day, when she was barely fourteen years old, when he brought home for her a beautiful, white rose, its petals the color of pearls and possessing the most wonderful, crisp scent. He managed to obtain in from the only floral shop in the area, which was no longer selling bouquets due to the immense shortages of many resources.  She originally wanted to wear it in her hair, but she also wanted it to thrive as long as possible, so she rested it in a bowl of water, where it lasted for many weeks. When it finally dried out, she collected the petals and stuck them between two pieces of Ratattakian papyrus, which she stored in a book she had recently bought worth half her bank account.

            “I still have those petals…” she murmured to herself, looking at her suitcase. She closed her eyes again and thought about the time she and Narec finally made love. She had turned seventeen, and she finally felt the time was right.

            She remembered the sweat they perspired together, that intimate sense of connection, the feelings in the Force. She felt as if their spirits had become one, like waves slowly undulating. Even though they had felt a connection beforehand, they were always busying themselves out on the battlefield, watching blood flow onto it like roaring floods. It was truly one of the most awful occasions to witness, but their wonderful, passionate lovemaking put them into such states of euphoria and union, they forgot during those minutes that they were in a terrible war against a totalitarian government. Their heartbeats had climbed to the same rates, they both reached their peak at the same time…everything in that union had synchronized perfectly together, and it was because they matched. It wasn’t shallow lust or a quick fuck just for the fun of it. It was spiritually involved. There had been the sense of connection. There was the sense that they were a key and a lock, and this exhilarating bliss had been meant for them all this time.

            Ever since Narec’s death, Ventress had been “unrestrained”, so to speak. After she had been taken under Dooku’s wing she had bedded so many men and women she lost track of how many she had slept with in her proclivities. She didn’t even remember who half of them were other than the fact that none of them even felt half as right as she and Narec did. She had no idea, to this day, why she had gotten herself sexually involved even if she wasn’t in it for pleasure. Did she want to feel that connection that she and her master had shared? It made her ponder, and it sure as hell didn’t give her the connection. The only thing it did was give her the affiliation of “whoredom” by many nobles and soldiers, which made her feel sick and lonely.

            Then there was the General. She remembered when she first made eye contact with him in the room with all those people, that small pull in the Force. It had been rather strange, and right when she felt that pull she had no idea what it meant. She had felt it so long ago she could not trace it back to where and when. It was when she had been discussing her life on Ratattak with Lin Nova did she remember it.

            Then there were the verbal sparrings. Even though they could be insulting at times, she could sense he appreciated her company, even if it was for short periods of time when they had it free. Most of the time they didn’t speak, but they would bid themselves goodnight, so that was a start.

            When Dooku wasn’t infiltrating on their training and acting violently towards her, she realized they were quite matched in combat. When they had practice duels, it no longer looked violent or calculating. She would watch him with Dooku, as his body would move in elegant, graceful, motions before becoming the warrior he really was. She’d watch him, while they dueled, as he would stretch his limbs and almost appear to be dancing (which the Count had dubbed “The Unorthodox”). It was truly a beautiful sight in her eyes.

            And then he had stood up for her, in front of the Count, standing his full posture and keeping eye contact with the smaller, yet more powerful male the entire time. She felt like somebody cared for her wellbeing, and had taken the chance of risking their own life as well doing so. The thought of that and the hopes and fears of their future alliance made her shiver. She pulled the blankets up above her and curled her body into a ball—as if she was back in the womb. She rested her forehead against her knees and closed her eyes.

            For the first time in months, she experienced a full day sans a traumatic flashback.


	5. Geonosis, Once Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two weeks of training on Coruscant, the General and the Assassin receive unexpected news from the Count, and must head back to Geonosis immediately to negotiate and execute plans.

This chapter follows both canon and new material introduced by the author. Grievous is slightly OOC, but then again, his character in Revenge of the Sith and Clone Wars 2008-2015 was deplorable and laughable to begin with. He’s an awesome adversary that had potential, so that’s why I wrote this story in the first place. 

Also, thank you Metastability, SupernaturalGodzilla, funnybunny16, Guest and Sereq ieh Dashret (AO3) for your reviews! I’m so happy you’re all enjoying this story. It’s nice to get such wonderful feedback and appraisals.

Chapter 5~Geonosis, Once Again

This chapter follows both canon and new material introduced by the author. Grievous is slightly OOC, but then again, his character in Revenge of the Sith and Clone Wars 2008-2015 was deplorable and laughable to begin with. He’s an awesome adversary that had potential, so that’s why I wrote this story in the first place.   
Also, thank you Metastability, SupernaturalGodzilla, funnybunny16, Guest and Sereq ieh Dashret (AO3) for your reviews! I’m so happy you’re all enjoying this story. It’s nice to get such wonderful feedback and appraisals.  
Chapter 5~Geonosis, Once Again  
In the golden, early morning of Coruscant and with an uncomfortable brush of crisp, heavy air; Ventress was standing in the hangar with the General, her luggage scattered hap-hazardly around due to their immense weight. They had murmured their good-mornings and “How do you do-s”, and now stood silently and anxiously. She looked up at him and wanted to ask why he was being so quiet, but once she set her gaze on the side of his mask she knew he was pondering over something. His fingers twitched and his eyes were downcast and hazy. She felt an insignificant urge to hold his hand, but something held her back from doing so. Instead, she simply crossed her arms loosely over her chest and watched as their shuttle slowly descended inside the hangar.  
Once they boarded, Dooku ordered the door to be promptly shut and commanded them briskly to sit down. They did so, both startled by the Count’s abrupt demeanor. None of them exchanged a word to each other until their shuttle was out of Coruscant’s atmosphere, heading in the opposite direction of Cato-Neimoidia . After a wait of unbearable silence, the Count sat in perfect posture and heaved a great sigh.  
“Some plans have been…changed drastically, to say the least,” he said uneasily. “You two will not be heading back to Neimoidia…for a while, actually.”  
“What’s going on, my lord?” Ventress asked abruptly. “W-where are we going?” Ohhh shit.  
The Count became quite grave. “Remember that so-called dustball, Geonosis? Little did you know how important it is to the whole Confederacy. Nobody, except me, Sidious, and a couple others knew it this whole time until me and the Separatist council held another meeting involving an individual I’ve long known named Poggle the Lesser…”  
Grievous’ surrogate ears pressed up against his head.  
“Wait, is that why you were gone for a couple days during the first week of training?” Ventress probed.  
“Yes,” the Count drawled.   
“Does this have anything to do with the rebellion you told us about occurring on that planet?” asked Grievous.  
“Indeed, except now it’s gotten a whole lot worse,” he closed his eyes for a few moments before slowly opening them. “That’s there Poggle the Lesser comes in. You see, he’s the leader of this rebellion and uprising. Not only that, but he and Viceroy Gunray struck a partnership almost a year ago, earning Poggle a seat for the Separatist council. This partnership has been one of the best decisions for the Confederacy, as Poggle is one of the individuals supplying our huge influx of B-1 battle droids.”  
Ventress gasped. “Oh my...I was never told this! I thought that- “  
The Count interrupted her. “So, what does this have to do with the revolt? Well, Poggle’s rebels have now gained so much control over their hive, they were able to kill off one of higher status, which earned Poggle a spot as the ruler of their newfound colony. Once he had done this, he agreed to affiliate his swarm with the Confederacy. Afterwards, he managed to capture Jedi Obi-Wan and his padawan, Anakin Skywalker after he discovered them spying on not only a meeting we had been holding, but after they infiltrated a Droid Union factory. He trialed them for espionage.”  
Grievous clenched his fists. “He executed the bastards, right?”  
Dooku was silent for what felt like a full minute before responding to the question, in which he looked the General dead in the eyes. “This is where it all began,” he sighed. “He attempted to execute them in an arena, but it ended up failing miserably. Senator Padme Amidala must have warned the Jedi Council ahead of time before Obi-Wan and Skywalker were caught. She and Poggle had met before and…it was not on the friendliest terms. Anyways, before the Jedi spies, along with Amidala, could be killed and outnumbered, a whole flock of Jedi from the Council came and started attempted to rescue them. Fortunately, Poggle had a plethora of B1’s on him and started executing them on the spot.”  
“What’s the progress?” The General asked all-too excitedly, even though he felt angered a good portion of their army was being used without his command or permission.   
The Count looked out the window. He seemed lost in thought, as if he didn’t want to answer any questions asked about these odd predicaments. Ventress could see in his eyes that he was feeling inner turmoil and confusion, which made her wonder if he was hiding something from them. Again he rested his tired eyes for a moment before taking a long, quiet sigh and turning back to face the General and Commander.  
“How would you two feel if I told you we’re at war?” he said meekly.   
Ventress and Grievous both turned to look at each other in shock, both taking their time to register what he had just told them. Ventress felt her bottom lip tremble, her face turning white while Grievous’ eyes blazed a brighter orange, his pupils mere slits as she saw the whites of his eyes. Their hands were clenched into fists and held firmly on their legs, both remaining absolutely silent before they turned their gazes back at Dooku’s nonchalant one.  
“What!?” the both cried out.  
The Count gave a slow nod. “Yes. It was declared so just yesterday. I received the news from Poggle and Hill last night. Our droid armies and The Republic have been fighting each other day and night without rest. They are in the middle of brewing turmoil, so we need to be there as soon as we can!”  
“What of the Jedi?” Grievous asked angrily.   
“A good amount died on the battlefield,” Dooku said. “However, the survivors retreated once the feud began and now the Republic has clones out there fighting and doing the dirty work.”  
Grievous gave a harsh, bitter laugh that made Ventress feel uncomfortable. He suddenly raised his fist in the air before slamming it onto the seat next to him, causing a indentation in the metal. He was still laughing. “Even the Jedi, themselves know their beliefs and core values are such utter bullshit!” he cried out. “They’re on a battlefield for ten minutes before they realize their teachings of…of Jediism—ugh—does not work or translate well in an upscale battle such as this one. Worse yet, they had the audacity to defend those that commit espionage, one of the worst crimes you could commit, and they bring with them chaos and mass-destruction when they, the Council break a goddamned intergalactic law.” He suddenly took on a pinched, resentful tone. “Fighting for peace—what they claim to be doing it for—does nothing at all. Fighting for “peace” is an invention made by those who are privileged enough to know what peace is in the first place. It’s a way to keep those experiencing life-threatening issues to remain silent and accept their fates.”  
Ventress put her face in her hands and wiped the familiar saline-infused fluid from her eyes. She couldn’t put into words how she was feeling about all this, but she felt this exact way when Narec lay dead at her feet. It was as if all the hopes and dreams she had for the future were pounded into an insignificant cube by an enormous fist, while the feeling of dread began to take over as if evoking a keen memory of an event that happened many years beforehand. Combine this with the thoughts of vulnerability while you felt you could conquer the universe, she never felt more confused and depressed in her life when these emotions hit her.  
“This isn’t the time to get weepy and reminiscent!” the Count spoke bitterly. “There will be time for that later. I don’t want Post-traumatic stress-disorder to become a thing among you two. We’re at war, and you need to be in-game. Nothing is going to spare or coddle you. Nothing, although I’m sure you two know this already.”   
Ventress felt for the lightsabers in her side-skirt pockets, trying to drive an angry urge away. “Are you going to drop us off in the battlefield…or, battlefields by the sound of it?”  
A shake of the head from the Count. “No. I’m not even sure if you two will be fighting. We’re meeting with Poggle and others in an anonymous area uncharted by the Republic. There’s a droid factory there. The Clones have yet to infiltrate that.”  
“The droid factories are not safe on Geonosis. They’re vulnerable,” Grievous commented. “Either they develop higher security or- “  
“Excellent points, General,” Dooku commented. “We will be discussing this when we arrive on Geonosis. In the axis it’s currently in and the location of the droid factory no rival should see our coming,” he then gave a swift cough. “Unless there’s more Jedi spies on the loose, of course.”  
Even though she sensed the Count was joshing with them, she pulled out one of her lightsabers and ignited it. “Well…in any given case, come armed. That way we can blow or slice them to pieces.”  
Dooku shot her a sniggered look. “Hm. I’m sure you’d know better about that, wouldn’t you?”  
By the time their conversing was ending they had entered the atmosphere of Geonosis, the ship taking a sudden, plummeting dive before picking back up and decelerating at a sluggish, careful speed. Ventress listened in for the sound of gunfire or the cacophonic echoes of struggle and chaos, yet all she could discern were the quiet noises of their shuttle engine and the repetitive calculations emitting from the cockpit where their B1 pilot sat. The assassin leaned forward and peeked through the window to see the pilot conversing to a commander droid sitting next to him. It was definitely not unusual to see or hear two B1’s chatting with each other, as they seemed to all appear to have a similar comradery no matter the occupation or ranking.   
However, there was something unusual about the mannerisms they displayed in which they were interacting. B1 droids were not known for their sophisticated design or advanced bearings, as they were basically programmed to stand attentively in lines and shoot a rifle—with the exception of some rankings such as the pilots and the Commanders. When the droids had free time among their other droid colleagues, they still stood unbending and attentive, as if they had to constantly be prepared for an unexpected attack (which in many ways was true for any individual fighting in these times of tumult). They often spoke in soliloquy and out loud, as if they weren’t aware of other beings in their surroundings.   
Ventress wouldn’t have been thinking too hard about this if she hadn’t seen the pilot pressing his speaking grill near the hearing sensor of the Commander droid. The Commander seemed to be listening assiduously, nodding a couple times as the pilot indicated something both forward and to the left with his slender pointer finger. With a final indication, the pilot moved back to his seat and turned attentively back to his occupation, but not before leaning to the right in a swift motion and gave what must have been a final, harsh whisper before the Commander released a trill of laughter.   
What are they talking about? the assassin wondered. They’re being awfully secretive about it. Maybe it’s time they underwent a memory wipe.   
Before she could think more about it, she suddenly felt as if their shuttle was sinking slowly down into something. That familiar, descending feeling which sent her legs kicking straight in front of her while an eerie lightness enveloped her body as if she would float up and touch the roof. Peeking anxiously out the window behind her (she didn’t want to make eye contact with the Count from peeking out his), she saw what looked like basalt escarpment, tinged with scarlet and bright orange stripes, which got more opalescent and vibrant the deeper they descended. The inside of their shuttle suddenly became unnervingly dark, mottled with the glow of the red and ochre-hued geology just barely scraping the ship.   
Ventress was beginning to feel claustrophobic, which was saying something on her part considering she was used to being crammed into tiny, scummy ships deprived of any proper space that could make one go insane. It came with the training, and the fear of being confined was something you could not bear when you entered a dangerous occupation such as hers. Tight spaces were practically her friends when she was sent on a cutthroat mission.   
This time for some reason was different, and she was beginning to feel quite woozy. As they continued further downward, she felt as if she left her head up top. She felt a bead of sweat on her forehead, and the air around her soon felt heavier, and she smelled a mixture of a smoke-tinged air and coagulated blood.   
She was soon feeling avid dizziness, and something hit her what felt like cool rain on her skin. Looking down at herself, she saw raindrops against her pale flesh, and the number of them continued to bead onto her flesh above. She looked upward and saw that the shuttle was slowly disappearing, being replaced strip by strip with a green, wet forest instead. Thunder began to resound within her eardrums, and soon she realized she was in the middle of a great oak arboretum, in the rain, a thunderstorm brewing above her.  
The perspiration continued to grow as the scents became stronger and soon she found she was hearing the sounds of bellowing and heaving sobs, which came onto her ever-so slowly. Soon she was looking down and Ky was at her feet, his eyes devoid of life and the pool of blood beneath his head spreading further out and sticking to the bottoms of her leather boots.   
Ky I am so, so sorry! Oh my gods you’re dead…why!? I was here next to you and I could have pulled you out of the way on time…oh please Ky please oh please don’t be dead. Please! Please! Those pirates, I’ve got them! Stay here, just stay here and I’ll help you…you’re dead. I—you’re dead…please come back…please!  
“Asajj!”  
Ventress shook her head and the smells and resonating screams stopped, replaced with disorganized voices and sandy light pouring onto her. The Count stood in front of her, glaring at her and tapping his foot impatiently. The General had dawned his silver cape, which covered his entire, foreboding body elegantly. His amber eyes were narrow, his posture perfectly straight and daunting.   
Before the Count could say another word, she stood up and shoved her lightsabers further into her pockets, attempting to discern the muddled conversations occurring outside their shuttle. Without another word, she stood beside Grievous as they pursued the General to the outdoors onto a high platform. Ventress realized they had descended into one of the deepest and largest canyons she had ever seen. Seeing it all made her feel insignificant and helpless…two things she never wanted to embody in her most astounding qualities. Standing to the right of the Count, she overlook her surroundings in avid curiosity.   
Below them were what must have been hundreds of Geonosians, all talking, rambling, conversing, and using a liberal mount of body language all throughout, flapping their brown, chitin wings anxiously. A good amount of them appeared to nobles or of higher status, judging by their attire, as most Geonosians failed to wear any sort of clothing at all. Some seemed to be high-ranking soldiers, wearing durasteel armor around their shelled, awkward bodies and standing straight and imposing.   
She looked father back behind the mob and saw a diverse amount of ships, ranging from freighters to carriers to starships and even a couple small cruisers with…ion cannons. She watched carefully as a few of the insectoids carried large, heavy crates into the freighters—and from the aggrieved looks on their faces as they did so the assassin surmised they must have been filled to the max with valuables and beneficial material. Seeing the individuals who were loading the bombers, they couldn’t have been as high on the social ladder as she had surmised. She saw a plethora of B1 and B2 Super Battle droids lining the walls of the canyon, looking fierce and astute despite their simplistic appearances.   
The three of them stood there, overlooking the action without a word being said or spoken forward for a few long moments before the Geonosians glanced up at them, all seeming to turn toward them in the same instant and giving an almighty salute and shout.  
“At your service, General and Commander!” their voices bellowed throughout the canyon, sending a rush of excitement up the assassin’s spine. She straightened her posture and rested her hands behind her like a professional Commander, shooting a glance at the imposing General as she did so. A few yips and hollers resounded from the crowd, some who began to raise their clawless fists in the air and cry out their names in uttermost respect. True, it was rather iconoclastic to not stay in a salute when in front of two high-ranking members of the army until they dismissed it, yet the passionate cries of victory and for a promising future made her feel proud and capable.   
The Count remained nonchalant. “Impressive,” is all he muttered before raising a hand upward, shushing the roused throng. There was still a holler here and there, but Ventress saw even the Geonosians knew better than to get on Dooku’s bad side. The silence soon became so great the wind could be heard thousands of feet above.  
“Thank you,” the Count said quietly before raising his voice for every single out of the hundreds of Geonosians to hear. “Ladies and gentleman…” he began with enthusiasm in his voice, which echoed throughout, “It is truly an honor to be delivering a speech in front of so many capable, intelligent, iconoclastic individuals such as you all—the ones who rebelled against the tyranny of the Galactic Republic, the ones who broke the social hierarchy of your grand race and dismantled a liberal portion of the caste system—and because of your generous contributions and evident prodigies in advanced Technology, you have all made what the Confederate army what it is today…a tough resilient superpower that defines the spectrum of highly advanced technology.”  
There were loud cheers and cries that followed right after, before they were quickly quieted once more. The Count had an eloquent way with words that Ventress envied.  
“Your cooperation has—and I cannot express this enough—greatly assisted and influenced us for this upcoming war. I have never met a more resilient species such as you all. You have all made an excellent choice siding with the Confederacy.” More whoops and cries. “I would also like to give thanks to a very intelligent individual who has helped shape what our military is today.” He turned to look on his left-hand side, where Grievous was patiently standing. “Poggle, come up here, please.”  
The sharp applause and the cries of pride rebounded through the canyon as a taller-than-usual Geonosian walked awkwardly onto the stage, his green and brown attire swinging behind him with each stride. He walked past the General and shook hands with the Count, both smiling at each other as if they were close friends. When they finished their quick, formal greeting the Geonosian stood on the Count’s left hand-side before Dooku began to speak, silence once again their best friend.  
“It is because of this individual we have your excellent technology assisting us in the first place—and not only that. Poggle the Lesser—or should I just say Poggle now that the social pyramid is nearly broken—has, with his proficient skills in the field of Engineering and art, created these fantastic models and diverse array of droids, modernizing them so they may be more beneficial as soldiers while keeping the traditional appearance of the original battle droid. Poggle has also proven to us that resilience and intellect will serve you and others well.” There was something suggesting irony in his voice, but it was subtle. He looked back at the high-authoritarian Geonosian, both exchanging nods before the Count backed away and Poggle took the center of the podium, his wide stature nearly rubbing up against the Commander’s shoulder.  
“My brethren,” he began in his strange, foreign voice. “We have made the most excellent choice of joining the Confederacy of Independent Systems. Although there have been some…disagreements and complications concerning one individual, it is because of these er—people I am standing with we will be moving toward the future.” He raised a fist in the air, which Ventress began to surmise was a custom or quirk with the Geonosian race. She wondered who he was referring to, but whoever it was she could just the mere thought of Poggle thinking about him/her made his eyes beady and his teeth grit.  
There were booming hollers that were shushed by Poggle. “I am just as excited and riled as you all are. To be in the service of General Grievous and Commander Ventress is incredible on its own.” He paused for reflection, closing his eyes briefly before opening them again. “Speaking of Grievous…” his turned to look at the fine General, whose cape was pushed behind him, exposing his powerful, duranium body. He had remained facing forward toward the audience the entire time, grazing over each individual face before he heard his name being said by Poggle and the weight of the Geonosian’s gaze. He turned his tawny eyes over to the Separatist and looked at him in intrigue.   
Poggle smiled and motioned for the General to approach him, which Grievous reluctantly did so, keeping his eyes on the Geonosian’s shiny, black ones.   
“This here, ladies and gentleman, is an extraordinary being,” Poggle commenced. “For many generations, aliens from every planet and galaxy have pondered over the fact of mixing man with machine. Some said it was impossible, and the organic would soon succumb to the machine and die during the procedure. Some thought something part machine would lose the concept of morality. Others disagreed, and believed that such a transition could be possible—to a certain extent. The latter was right, as we now have cybernetic limbs and implements for those who need it, and they can still affiliate with their peers and cultures. However, there was no proof that there was no extent to it until I created General Grievous.” There were mixed gasps and whispers in the audience, shifty eyes, glances, and an occasional shake of the head. The audience this time, however, seemed to shush itself.  
Created General Grievous? The assassin wondered.  
“Grievous here is as far as we will ever get when it comes to making a cyborg in which the only components of his original organics are his lungs and heart, brain, and face…although the latter must not come too much in handy, does it?” He released a dark chuckle, followed by a bitter trill of laughter from the onlookers. The General’s pupils became reduced and his eyes turned a tad darker orange. Poggle gave a quick cough before continuing.  
“Never has there been—nor will there ever be a man/machine hybrid that embodies the rippling power and intelligence as Grievous. It is of the latest Geonosian design I had created…along with the inspiration from the original Krath war droid, do we have a capable figure that is tougher than any droid or bipedal being while possessing the litheness and flexibility of an organic. I believe he—and colleague Commander Ventress of course—will be the most capable leaders of our droid army. You won’t let us down, Sheelal.” Sheelal?  
Even Grievous showed just as much surprise as she was thinking, his eyes widening and speckling with tinges of orange.   
“How did you…?” Ventress heard the General ask Poggle quietly before the Geonosian backed away and motioned the Count back up front.   
“Thank you for the rousing speech, Poggle,” the Count said all-too drearily. “Be sure to prep everything you all have as best as you can, because after tonight, none of you will be on this planet again until disputes are settles. You all have a future ahead of you, look forward and not in the past. We must remain resistant and strong…for the Confederacy.”  
There was a sudden boom of voices, applause and cries, before a tubular shout of hundreds to nearly thousands of Geonosians all together cried “For the Confederacy! For Freedom from the Republic!” followed again by “At your service, General and Commander!” Soon they were bellowing and on the verge of blaring this slogan repeatedly, as if one was trying to out-do the other in an ear-piercing screaming match. Ventress found herself fighting tooth and nail to cover her ears in front of them in fear of a too-high decibel doing permanent damage to her eardrums.   
She had been unimpressed and creeped out by Poggle’s speech. From the way he said it, in her opinion anyway, the way he spoke of Grievous as being his “creation” seemed as if Poggle had not taken into any consideration that Grievous had been a being beforehand. Well, obviously, he had to some degree, considering he referenced the cyborg by an old name from her understanding. However, she wondered if Poggle saw Grievous as somebody different from the blood-and-flesh mortal he had once been. She saw the General as having his own identity, not being the “creation” from an intelligent but conniving engineer. It almost felt like prostitution to her, as if the General’s body was of the Geonosian’s—technically it was so—yet the way Poggle had spoken about him almost seemed like possession. She wondered if she was being too picky and sensitive on the subject, but she had listened to the Geonosian male’s speech intently, and she was wondering if he was planning on forming Grievous into something utterly difference from what he once was.  
She hoped to the gods she was over-thinking it and none of what she had been construing was true.  
The assassin found herself much relieved to be excused away from such an obstreperous spectacle. She followed Dooku and the General cautiously through the crowd, which at least parted for them respectively, as they head through the massive barrage of ships of many shapes, sizes, and purposes. Dodging swiftly below a small freighter, Poggle lead the three of them into a droid factory (which appeared to be mostly empty and abandoned) built in the side of the orange canyon, right in front of a small gulley. He took a right into the third office farthest from the entrance and sat himself down, swinging the door closes with a remote control once they had all entered and parked at a shabby lightwood table riddled with age and black grain.   
The General eyed the small chairs precariously before standing in perfect stature, back linear to the wall. “I’d prefer to stand, thank you,” he said languidly. Poggle seemed to eye the General’s 7’1 form keenly before turning his attention to the three of them, Dooku respectively.  
“I-err, understand this is a bit of a last minute notice for you all…” he trailed fretfully, his wrists pressed against the desk and tapping the ends of his fingers together. “We had…not realized how quickly the Clone armies were approaching this particular area. We’re not sure if they saw us coming here or not, but I believe if we stay here for another full day they’ll be on to us.”  
“Do not apologize,” the Count spoke gruffly. “This is definitely not the first time this has happened.” He gave a weary sigh. “We didn’t see or hear any combat on our way here, but that might just have been because of the direction we came from.” Poggle heaved a congested sigh of relief.  
“I cannot take any chances, however,” Poggle said. “I do not find it wise to stay here. I have already sent fifteen battalions of droids outwards, so I’m sure the Republican armies will sooner or later discover the sources of these droid influxes.”   
“D-did you say fifteen battalions?” the General nearly sputtered. Poggle turned his attention to Grievous and gave a nervous nod.  
“Yes, General. I know that is quite a huge number to comprehend, but I believe such drastic measures were necessary. Me and Tambor entered an agreement in which I may hold co-ownership of the droid factories on Geonosis.”  
“Well, if you need to send fifteen battalions of battle droids out at once in such a short period of time, maybe you—or we—need to come up with better, more sophisticated droids possessing both ingenuity and strength,” The General stated. It was Poggle’s turn to start sputtering.  
“W-what? Do you not see how advanced these droids already are!? Without guidance, they can act independently. While they cannot do it terribly well, over time they learn from their surroundings and can figure out different tactics and solutions on how to kill the enemy! How would you even know? You’ve never even sent any to battle yet. How would you know if you’ve never had experiences with them? How- “  
“I don’t like the way you’re addressing my colleague,” Ventress butted in. “Why use the stuck-up tones? There is no need to be patronizing! We’ve both had positive and negative experiences with these droids. He’s simply addressing an issue that we might want to look into.”  
“B-but why?” Poggle faltered. “They’ve got the perfect, lithe design for combat. I- “  
“Poggle is right,” Dooku finally spoke. “These droids are already expensive to make. Having to manufacture new ones after the design has been finalized and sent en mass all over the galaxy is going to add to the deficit.”  
“Exactly!” The Geonosian reprimanded. “We’ve already gotten in enough trouble after that blasted Gunray leaked the location of that one droid factory on Geonosis where I found those two Jedi scum.”  
Ventress gave a soft sigh. “Huh. Sounds like the incompetence of Gunray all right. How has he not been fired, again?”  
Dooku swiftly changed the subject. “Poggle, it is because of Gunray you even have these ships in the first place—let alone half the materials you’ll be bringing with you. I will not tolerate the quibbles you and Gunray get into on a daily basis. Now, let me ask you something. How many Geonosians joined your rebellion, and how many of them will be coming to Hypori?”  
“Oh it’s a difficult estimate,” Poggle discerned. “I’d say we’ve got about 1300 individuals down here now who will be coming with us. We’re expecting a lot more by the time night hits—they’re officers and resilient soldiers, so we’ll be wanting them with us. Once so, we must leave. We’re already almost finished loading the freighters with rations and materials and the cruisers with the droids we were able to salvage. Adding the droids to the equation is unmeasurable for now, but me and a couple others surmise there’s about 25,000 droids accompanying us.”  
“Hypori…” Ventress murmured out loud without thinking. “That’s where the Techno Union Droid factory is, isn’t it?” Poggle and the Count nodded.  
“Yes. The largest droid manufacturer in the Galaxy not under Republican siege,” said Poggle matter-of-factly. “A good amount of the Geonosians down here are going to employ under the work of Tambor and Dooku,” he seemed to be addressing the Count more than her. “It is awfully generous of you to offer employment for my people, Count. I cannot express enough gratitude toward you.”   
“So, most of the Geonosians out there—coming with us—are not nobles?”  
Poggle shook his head. “No, Commander. Most of them are workhands and some even have backgrounds as being the hive drones.” A half-beam pulled on the left part of his mouth. “However, they are all part of my insurgence now. Because of the chances I, Dooku, and other generous Confederates have given us, they now have a higher chance to succeed past being a low-hierarchal sudras. These people are no longer subjacent servants. In fact, we have been attempting to ban the word drone from our accumulate.”  
He then shifted his eyes over to Grievous.  
“Hmm…I haven’t asked you two how you’re feeling about all this. How do you two feel that you’ll be leading a whole colony of Geonosians to Hypori?”  
“Welll…” Ventress trailed. “I’ve gotten much more elaborate missions last-minute before.” She was trying to shrug it off as being an easy task, but she wasn’t showing it too well. Grievous seemed more open to showing his emotions toward things he liked or opposed more than she did, and she admired him for it.  
“I have a great respect for your race after you ‘fixed me up’,” the General said. “As well as your tremendous contributions in the field of technology…although I am overwhelmed by such an…elaborate mission. I’m not even sure where Hypori is.”  
“Oh it’s not even far from here at all,” Poggle chuckled. “It’s like the twin of Geonosis except…uglier.” He trailed nervously.   
“Oh my! Sounds tempting,” Ventress said, snide. She suddenly felt something sharp pinch her thigh. Gritting her teeth in surprise and discomfort, she shifted a swift gaze to the Count and saw him casting a sideways glare her way, the rough fingers on her thigh tightening as he did so.   
By the Force…  
Ventress nearly cried out as she felt Dooku’s nails dig into her flesh. “I-Is its Geonosian-like terrain that attracts you to it…other than the droid factory?” she asked hastily, the Count’s hand moving away back to his own lap as she stated her query. He was still glowering at her.  
Poggle shrugged. “Sort of. Also, it’s close and is left uncharted off Republican territory. There is no way they’re going to venture out to a planet like Hypori.” Ventress wasn’t sure if that made her feel more comforted or scared for what to expect of this “planet”.   
“I was just being an ass,” Ventress spoke. “I’d be willing to do it, even though it sounds rather treacherous.” Dooku gave her a strange expression. “You’re an assassin. Treachery shouldn’t be a problem for either of you.”  
“But it’s a plethora of lives we’re dealing with…”  
The General sat cross-legged on the floor, tapping his metal finger against his cheek, pondering the whole situation. Ventress was right. This was his first real mission, and it was last-minute and involved the lives of what would possibly be over 2000 souls. He and Ventress were already seen as heroes among these people. They lived night and day hoping they’d be successful—because their lives depended on it. If the two of them could guide these individuals safely to this new planet, they’d be seen as a savior among them. They had nobody else who would be willing to do it for them, so he and Ventress were their last chance.  
Ventress thought all of it over. Guiding thousands of lives to a new desolate planet. This was more periculous than assassinating a single individual over the course of many days or weeks. Lives. They were going to be saving lives, not ending them. She knew Grievous had respect for the Geonosians. She wasn’t sure she wanted to put their lives in danger for something…like this.  
Then again, why not? She could prove that she was willing to assist those trying to escape from the tyrannical ways of the Galactic Republic because of two spying Jedi. She felt her blood boil from the thought of a colony having to leave their home because of a case that should have been put to justice—execution, yet the Jedi who tried to avenge their colleagues only made it worse…now there was a war. She could not believe it was happening, but she was tired of Republicans. She was tired of Jedi. She was tired of the constant oppression. Most importantly of all, she was tired of the lack of independent, of free will, of liberty. She had spoken of enacting ways to stop or reduce Republican influences…now was a chance to do it.  
Yet she was a padawan of the Dark Side, and altruism was not something you could side for when training under its influential arts.  
Then again—she was a CIS Commader as well.  
Feeling that her mind was inundated with her dualistic disputes, she wasn’t quite keen on responding yet. Instead, she found herself asking: “Where is Hypori, exactly?”  
Poggle seemed greatly relieved she had asked, as if fearing to ask her if she knew of the planet’s location. He opened the top drawer of his desk and retrieved a tightly-rolled, new-looking map. As he unraveled it, Ventress eyed it curiously. Poggle caught her immediate, curious gaze. “I…uh, I would have just pulled up a map of the Galaxy on the holo-projector, but it only shows what the Republic has added to their systems.” He retrieved two thumbtacks from a box on his desk and pinned it down to the table, making sure it wouldn’t ravel back up.  
Ventress peered onto it with the General and admired the intricacy that went into making it. Much to her surprise, the map also charted Ratattak, nailing the location and axis of it perfectly. She eyed around for Kalee, yet couldn’t find Utapau—a definite outlier that Kalee wasn’t mapped as well. Still, she was impressed by the coordination of the many planets, star systems, and descriptions of each one in superb detail.  
“I found it,” the General stated, pointing a bony finger on a light brown planet located behind Geonosis, and it wasn’t as close as Ventress would have liked. The only thing that would have made it worse were if it was behind another asteroid belt.  
“Oh my…” she mumbled. “It’s not as close as I would have thought it to be.”  
“You’ve travelled much farther, before,” the Count butted in, matter-of-factly. “Only this time, you don’t need to worry about Republican obstructions or blockades…or asteroid belts.” Ventess swore she could hear a bitter smile forming on his aging face. She found herself taking a swift, quiet breath in before letting it all out through her nose.   
“Yeah, yeah…” her voice hilted to a tremble before she gained composure. She studied the map for a moment more in silence before turning her head slightly toward the General, who was standing beside her and analyzing the chart with a delicate precision she had to admire. As his left hand lazily traced the cream-colored contours of the map, he gently moved the fingers of his right hand around the territory of Hypori, Geonosis, and beyond. Watching as he traced an invisible path between the two planets, Ventress realized he was outlining how to guide the fleet out of Geonosis. Like a scientist revising his work, Grievous seemed to be so enveloped in his plotting and charting the Commander realized he had not been contributing to their conversation.   
As she watched the General begin to equate, with his fingers, the distance between Geonosis and Hypori with more familiar planets on the map, Ventress could hear Poggle shift around in his seat impatiently, drawing her avid attention away from the General’s work.  
“There will be Republican blockades around Geonosis now because of this enduring battle,” Ventress warned. “There is no doubt about it. In fact, I’d be more worried if they didn’t start doing it.”  
Poggle gave his own version of a guttural growl. “That’s why we must leave tonight. We cannot waste any more time here. Republican militaries are advancing upon this location as we speak.”  
Shit.   
The General suddenly moved his hands off the map. “I have determined, if this map is accurate, that the distance between Geonosis and Hypori is equivalent between the orbit of Talus and Kashyyyk,” he abruptly avowed.   
Poggle looked offended. “That map is accurate. It’s the latest, most updated type we’ve received.”  
Pondering over the General’s supposition, Ventress split her pointer and middle finger above the two planets, studying their placement before moving her stretched digits over to Talus and Kashyyyk; being ever-so careful as she pressed her phalanx against the map. Other than having to move her middle finger slightly closer in to get the closest approximation and having to twist her wrist around due to their placements, the distances were exactly the same.  
Poggle raised his brow, giving the General a questioning look. “In fact…” Grievous added, “If the scale on the map is correct as well, it appears that Kashyyyk and Talus are approximately 230 million kilometers away from each other. Since there are only a couple months left—I’m measuring in Coruscant’s calendar—until the end of this Geonosian year, Geonosis is closer to Hypori at this point than what the map shows. If I had to give you an exact estimate, I’d day Geonosis is currently around 210 million kilometers away from Hypori, maybe slightly less than that.”  
Ventress caught on right away and began to speak alongside his point.  
“And from what the GPS on our shuttle gave us…” she began. “We are far above the equator, near Geonosis’ northern hemisphere. With the axis it’s tilted at right now, and with how close we are to Hypori because of the orbit it’s currently in, the trajectory of our ships and fighters can easily follow a designated, yet curved path to Hypori—as the Techno Droid Union is located near the northern hemisphere of that planet.”  
“Exactly,” the General asserted.  
The Geonosian kept his eyebrow quirked, but a smile began to form—large enough for crinkles to form in the corners.   
“That is a most excellent observation, General,” Poggle declared. “I am impressed with your attentiveness. Didn’t I say he’d make an excellent strategist, Dooku?”  
“When will a conclusive answer be made?” the Count responded with great impatience. “There is no time for compliments or accolades. You repeatedly speak of how we cannot dilly-dally, yet that is what the three of you are continuing to do.”  
Poggle’s smile faded as he clumsily stood up, stiffly nodding and rolling up the map as quickly as he could. “M-my sincere apologies, Count Dooku,” he spoke, ignoring his precipitous awkwardness. “You are so very right…so very right.” He shoved the map carelessly into Ventress’ arms. “Y-you’re both going to want to study this, I-I’m sure. You’ll probably have a digital map in the ship already, b-but just in case…” The Commander caught Dooku rolling his eyes.  
So…I guess we will be doing this after all. I do wonder if he heard--  
“How are you feeling about this, Commander Ventress and General Grievous,” Poggle asked once again, interrupting her thoughts.   
“Oh!” she cried out in surprise. “Eh, it doesn’t sound that bad. No, not bad at all. I-I’d be very willing to do it. How about you, General?”  
“Most certainly,” he said in a voice that was much calmer and more fluid than in the ways she and Poggle had been speaking. “I will say this with gratitude once again—if it was not for the capable engineering attributes and prodigies of your race, I wouldn’t be standing here, making plans for the future.”  
“Aahhh, well…” Poggle spoke hesitantly, backing up toward the door. “I am quite enthralled to hear that. You are a hero to us…or, you shall be. Uh, if you two need any help with this plotting…I’ll be around here, and you’ll most likely want to talk to some of the pilots and engineers coming along. Pilots wear light blue attire…engineers always red. However, you’re pretty capable as well.”  
In just one gauche moment, Poggle swiftly and silently exited the room, leaving the three of them standing there, as if waiting for something noteworthy to happen. The Count finally gave groan and hoisted himself from his seat.  
“What’re you two just standing there, for?” he spoke, brusquely. “We were already late when we got here. There’s a lot that needs to be done!”  
“I think we can handle it,” Ventress said as nonchalantly as she could muster, clinging the map under her arm. “It seems that the General has more of a knack for careful observation than I realized.” Even speaking that surprised her. It was the highest compliment she had ever given somebody else after she turned to the Dark Side, and she could even see Dooku look at her, questionably.   
“Ah…yes,” he finally said. “But I’m just wondering if you’ll be capable of doing this not-so task without failing miserably.” The tone his voice took sounded more denigrating than usual.  
So much so, that Ventress found herself nearly biting her lip bloody to not call him by a foul appellation. “I still believe we’ve got this under our belts, thank you,” she retorted, “And if you have no confidence in us why won’t you be partaking in this journey?”  
It felt meagerly satisfying to speak to him in such a way, even with the way he glowered at her afterwards.  
“Don’t be impertinent, Asajj! You know very well why I will not be going along with you two. You must learn to be independent and self-reliant, do you understand? That’s what I have been teaching you, and you’ve been abiding by it well. Isn’t acting independent on your own what you want?”  
“Yes, Count…but- “  
“No,” Dooku whispered, placing his hand tightly over her mouth. “No. There are no “buts”, Ventress. No excuses from you. You’ve always wanted to avenge Ky Narec…and now this is your chance.” His voice suddenly took a virulent quality. “Trust me when I say this girl, you do not want to get o the bad side of an individual who has formed who you are today.”  
He dug his fingers into her cheeks before slowly letting do, drawing his burgundy cape around himself and turning around as swiftly as possible. As fast as Poggle had left, the Count opened the door and proceeded out of the building, not making any noise as he walked and letting the door factory doors slam shut behind him.  
She could still hear the slam after a minute, feeling the vibrations ring quietly in her eardrums as the silence became all-too overwhelming. Once she heard the clock on the wall ticking slowly and the sound of feet shuffling softly on the floor, she suddenly remembered that she was not the only one standing in the room.  
Awkwardly, she turned back to look at the General, keeping her arms crossed protectively around herself. She wasn’t quite sure what her facial expression signified, but whatever it was, the way the General looked at her had made her realize that she was shaken up. Her cheeks were still apple red and burning hot from the pressure the Count had applied to her face, yet all she could muster to show was a lip she had bitten clean though. She rubbed her tired eyes and heaved a great sigh before removing her hands from her scorching face.  
“I’m not sure what’s burning me more, Dooku’s iron grasp or your gaze.” She tried adding humor to the situation like they habitually tended to do when Dooku became irrational, but it now seemed to be the wrong time to do so. She could sense the General was feeling rather uneasy, and even with Dooku gone the Count always managed to leave a miasma feeling cold and sinister, as if he had left a little bit of his presence in the room.   
She lifted her contemplation off the ground and looked Grievous in the eyes.   
“Let’s just ignore that happened, alright?” she asked, feeling chagrin deep inside. “There are better things to worry about.” The General gave one sharp affirmation, much to her relief. He had much better things to ponder over than the estranged connection between her and Dooku. He had helped her in a situation once, which, in her opinion, was enough.  
“Why don’t I plot out how the fleet is to be organized,” Grievous questioned rhetorically. “I’m going to have to go and count—or maybe guesstimate—how many ships we’re guiding, as well as looking for replicas and similar models.”  
The Commander was relieved to take her mind off subjective issues and focus on her profession, instead.  
“Good idea,” she responded coolly. “I’ll talk with the pilots and the engineers. I can figure out a way to distribute the swarm to their rightful ships. I’m sure most of them would be able to fit in those cruisers with the ion cannons. Poggle hasn’t given us much to work with, so we’re going to have to be both hasty and precise.”  
She was rewarded with yet another affirmation. “Those ships are beyond notable,” he stated, impressed. “I’m not sure if I’ve seen too many ships of such superior size and quality.”  
“They’re certainly eminent,” she agreed. “I wonder if- “  
Before she could say another word, the sound of a blasting gunfire rang from outside. It was the loudest volley she had ever heard from a firearm, and it left a trembling, ringing sensation in her ears. All she could muster to let free from her shaking lips was a sharp gasp before she ignited her lightsabers and ran out of the Factory as fast as she could. Bursting out with the General promptly beside her into the canyon under a golden sky, dappled with the qualities of an orange veil. She saw an immense throng of Geonosians gathering into one conglomerate, surrounding a particular wall of the canyon like what she had seen in a Neimoidian amphitheater.   
“There’s blood on the escarpment,” Grievous said, startled.   
What else does he see? She pondered. He towers above everybody else here.  
In one swift motion she bound onto the canyon floor with a painful crunch of gravel embedding into her soles as she ran toward the crowd.   
“What has happened!?” she cried out, attempting to push herself through. Parting ways for her, she raised her sabers above her head and proceeded forward, ignoring the throbbing pains she felt in her feet and head as she finally made her way to the front of the tumultuous crowd. There, like what Grievous had told her, was blood splattered on the wall and on the substrate. Lying amidst the corporal fluids lay, much to her horror, a Clone, his head decapitated away from his body and his limbs severely contorted.   
She found herself unable to speak for a moment before she turned back to the crowd, pointing at the opposing side’s soldier. “How did this happen?” she demanded. “Where did he come from? There is no way this was just the work of one blaster rifle!”  
In an instant, the crowd parted again and there stood a tall Geonosian swaddled in light blue—a pilot…or that’s what he appeared to be from the attire descriptions Poggle had given her. Remaining stoic and professional, he bent his right arm upwards and revealed he was indeed possessing some kind of rifle, yet one Ventress had never behold before. With a deep blue, metallic gloss and a nice luster, it was the most well-crafted firearm she had ever seen…and of course it was the creation of the Geonosians.  
“It was I who saw and got him, Commander,” he replied, phlegmatic about the situation. “Me and a comrade saw a little shape standing over the rim of the canyon. It looked as small as an ant from our perspective, yet when I scoped it out with my sniper, it was, lo and behold, a solo Clone, loading his pistol. With instinct, I shot him, but not before scoping around to see if there were others.”  
The Commander still stood in her spot, motionless. “So you’re a sniper.”  
“Yes, Commander.”  
“Then that means…” she shot a look back at the malformed body. “How long until the other crewman are here?” she demanded.  
The sniper didn’t respond to her question right away, before The General came running toward them in great strides before he took one impressive, long leap over the crowd, their eyes following his soaring body as he landed with a terrific thud next to Ventress, sending shrapnel and orange dust cascading around them. He took one guise at the Clone’s body and turned his attention back to the sniper.  
“Show-off,” Ventress mumbled quietly to herself.  
The Sniper finally broke out of his imperturbable phase and gazed at the General in disbelief, in stunned silence.  
“Well?” the General grilled, growing tetchy. “Answer the question. When will they be here? We don’t have any time left to stand around!”  
“P-P-Poggle said they’d be here in close to an hour, s-sir.”  
The General sighed and rubbed his temples against his forehead. “Well then, get a move on! We must leave here the hour they arrive!”  
With a final salute and a shout for victory, the crowd disbanded and began to scuffle around, working twice as fast as they had when she and the General had arrived. Before the Commander could head off to do the work she sought to complete, Grievous suddenly raised his right arm into the air, holding it as still as a marble resin statue.  
Tilting her head and raising an eyebrow, the Commander stood stoically next to him, wondering what he had to say. It was only a matter of moments the Geonosians saw his gesture did they halt their operations and stand facing him, most likely wondering what he could possible want after ordering them to work faster.  
Once he saw he had their attention, he placed his hands behind his back and began to stride, slowly, looking at them all in the same manner he had looked at the Separatist council the day Ventress had first seen him.  
“Listen here, everybody,” he announced. “Even with the insufficient amount of time we have, you need to pay attention to me for a few minutes.”   
Seeing a strange, playful glint in his eye, Ventress eagerly listened in. The General stood his full, imposing height and declared:  
“I have got a plan.”


	6. The Negotiations of Gunray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While two powerful leaders of the Separatist militia make their way to a barren planet, with a small glint of hope for an optimistic future, the affluent Gunray reveals his true emotions about the war and the cybernetic General.

Hey, guys! I want to tell you all that I’m a lot busier than when I started writing this story. I’ve got a part-time job now and I’m starting school later this year, so updates for following chapters may be longer waits. Just wanted to let you all know, and I do love writing this. I am very excited for the future chapters. These next couple chapters will mostly be about negotiations and character development…but I have something big planned a while later.

This chapter had so many red squiggles riddled throughout while I was writing, so I hope I didn’t miss over any spelling errors!   
Also, I do not want any more comments lambasting the new Clone Wars and the new Star Wars movies. I want to receive feedback on my story, not criticizing the series I said I wasn’t following. There’s plenty of threads dedicated to that already, and I don’t want the comment section of this story to become that. Comments in the future that continue to do so will be deleted. I appreciate you’re all trying to help out, in which I am gracious for your support, it’s just there’s nothing we can do about it and I’d rather know your opinions about the content I publish instead of criticism of the Star Wars medium.  
I also seem to be getting quite a few reviews from Guest reviewers. If you don’t mind, next time if you would like to review, maybe assign a name to your review so I can properly credit you in future chapters. I’ll post this in later chapters as well for reference.

Chapter 6~The Negotiations of Gunray

The Viceroy sighed in relief as he lowered his shimmering, green body into the steaming water below, fogging up the large mirrors that sat in front of him and sending pleasurable goosebumps up his flesh. The smell of fresh rainforest florals filled his senses, breaching throughout the room in snaking tendrils. A small, compact bunny droid had just served him the most refreshing glass of Dokaii, a sweet Neimoidian liqueur known for its soft yet almost enjoyable aphrodisiac qualities. It was a drink that had become heavily restricted in most parts of the planet, yet with his high status and prodigious wealth, Gunray could get a good quantity of what he desired without deplorable consequence.  
Taking a small sip of the pink booze, he set it down on a handmade lazuli table next to the edge of the tub, rubbing his fingers delicately along the uppermost part of the glass and scooping up a small amount of the pink salt crystals that beautifully decorated the rim. Sprinkling them onto his tongue, he rubbed them along the roof of his mouth, savoring the acerbic flavor before swallowing it down with little effort.  
He should have been calm, but he wasn’t. Even as he lay there in the steaming bath water, taking the smallest of sips from his passionfruit drink, savoring the sensation as the floral salt soak irritated his skin in an odd yet delicious sensation, the Viceroy still felt turmoil reside within him.   
Feeling slightly peevish, he slid deeper into the water far enough to reside just an inch below his chin. Starting to feel uncomfortable to be sitting alone, naked in such a large space, he wrapped his arms around himself, feeling impatient.  
“Rune!” he cried out to the slightly open double-doors on the opposite side of the room. “What is taking you so long? How long does it take for a man to undress!?”  
A minute later, the smaller, slender Neimoidian entered the room, his darker-colored skin gleaming from the steam. Shutting and locking the door carefully behind him, Haako stalked slowly to the bathtub before carefully dropping the towel onto the tiled floor and proceeded, with some difficulty, into the water. He gave a content exhalation as he set his glass of Dokaii on the table beside him, raising his arms up to stretch before laying rearward and resting his head on his hands; his back pressed firmly against the blue tile of the tub walls.  
“T’is is most relaxing, Nute…” the lieutenant sighed, scootching himself into the turquoise water. Seeing Haako in such a relaxed state for once brought the Viceroy out of his inner conundrum. A smile once again began to form as he grabbed more salt from his drink and pinched it precisely between his fingers before swallowing the crystals in a single slurp.  
“It’s been a while since I have had a bath…” Haako spoke again. “I’ve just been t’inking and stressing over t’e conflict on t’at dustball in the Outer Rim…oh, what was it called again? Geokrosis? Gemininosis?”   
“Geonosis,” Nute corrected, laughing at the lieutenant’s quibble. “Oh by t’e gods do NOT bring t’at up, here! I have been in a similar quandary. Stressing over such mundane matters is going ta kill us, Rune!”  
Haako quirked a brow. “I wouldn’t call t’at Battle occurring on Geonosis as something “mundane”, Nute!”  
Gunray gave an exasperated sigh, “AGH! Whatever! T’ose concerns are for t’at bastard, Poggle…and the Krath droid wannabe and the hairless harpy!” He burst into hysterics, nearly spilling his drink into the water with each choked gasp.  
Haako merely gave a solemn nod and an uncomfortable smile, suddenly feeling much colder. Once Gunray had stopped his chortling, he sighed and set his glass down, casting a sideways glance at his colleague.   
“Lighten up, Haako…” Gunray teasingly purred. “You always worried over ta very simplest t’ings. You’re going ta kill me one of these days with your excessive worry.”  
Haako leaned forward, drawing his chest out of the scented water. “An’ we can’t have that, can we?” he chuckled, bringing the domed glass to his lips and taking a miniscule sip. “Even though war is something everybody should worry about…”  
The Viceroy suddenly felt his frustrations flooding back unto him. “Oh, shut up Rune!” he cried out. “I didn’t invite you to bathe wit’ me so I could be reprimanded about t’e horrid future. Stick to ta present for now…t’e conflict has not escalated yet…”  
The lieutenant approached Gunray’s side cautiously. “I know why you asked me ta bathe wit’ you, Nute…” he purred with uttermost affection, “…and I am sorry for projecting my worries upon you. I know how stressful it must be.”  
Gunray closed his eyes and rubbed his temples against his forehead, taking an internal sigh before opening his nictating membranes once again, facing his full-on attention to his long-befriended colleague.  
“I have become a parody…a laughing stock, Rune.”  
The lieutenant suddenly held a slender finger up to his lip to conceal a giggle. “So, you’ve seen t’e comic strip in t’e Weekly Galactic Tribune t’ey did about you and t’e taxes you owe?”  
Nute nearly spit his drink into the teal water, feeling his throat constrict at the mere mention of him being lampooned in such a way of buffoonery. “What!?”  
Rune suddenly gave a small gasp and looked away from Gunray’s angered stare. “N-not’ing. You’ll probably see it soon, anyways.”  
“You can’t be serious…oh, what t’e hell!? I’m used to t’is enough. T’e Count acts like he doesn’t notice, but you can see in t’ose soulless eyes of his he is regretting having me in t’e Separatist Council.”  
Rune gave the viceroy a disgusted frown. “You’re pretty soulless yourself, Nute.”  
“I have to be to get through all t’is—can’t be a sensitive ninny,” Nute said, sounding as if he was reassuring himself and his position. “Not soulless per say, but…I have learned to not become controlled by my emotions. T’at would make me too charitable to t’ose who don’t deserve it, Rune.”  
The lieutenant nodded as the viceroy took a swig of his drink, before continuing to speak once again, shakily.  
“T’ere…t’ere is a meeting being held about the Republican blockades on Geonosis, and ta direction in which this war was headed…” Nute spoke in a slow monotone.   
Rune sighed in frustration. “I t’ought you didn’t want ta talk about-“  
“Shut up! You know t’at when you start talking about something like t’e conflict, it gets me riled! Anyways…you are right about one t’ing. T’ings and negotiations are not looking good at all. T’e Count has just begun spreading his…propaganda. I do not know yet how he is doing so.”Gunray raised his dripping hand outward and took another dainty sip from his drink. “T’inking about it makes me want to drink myself into a drunken stupor, Rune.”  
The more sober Neimoidian quirked a brow. “T’inking about what?”  
Gunray set his drink down with a shaky arm. “T’ey have been on my ass, Rune. All of t’em. First t’e Galactic Republic, t’en Amidala, t’en Amidala again after t’at failed attempt at…you know, t’en the Jedi Council, now I am being more t’an severely reprimanded by Poggle, Dooku, an Tambor.”  
“I cannot say I blame t’em, sir,” Haako admitted. “I mean…you did leak the location of a large Droid factory…”  
“I know,” Nute said, growing aggravated. “T’ey all do not like me. T’ey don’t trust me…t’e relations between me and t’em have been strained—pulled apart and torn in many places—an’ part of t’e reason is because of t’at Droid General…”  
“What?” Rune asked. “How?”  
Gunray’s brow furrowed and his grimace increased. Now this was a topic he had never wanted to find himself discussing…let it be burrowed beneath all the other tasks and worries he had to work with and manage; and yet, it was a poser that stirred within him once that horrid name Grievous was mentioned. It was one of the only times Gunray ever felt himself have his pent-up anger and frustrations bubble to the surface, bringing that bright green tinge of rage to his cheeks just thinking about it.  
The Droid General. It had been the topic of his coterie for days. Hearing it, then feeling as if he was forced to contribute to a conversation about a…thing that was created from the salvaged remains in a jet crash absolutely disgusted him. He had enough trouble dealing with those greatly foreign to his culture and manners, so why should he have to deal with an individual that most likely couldn’t stand him?  
Nute didn’t care if the General didn’t like him. He loathed Grievous. Ever since he saw him as the Kaleesh warrior working for that bastard Banker San Hill and watching as the Muun seemed to show respect for something so foreign and not of their nature, he could hear his teeth chatter and would automatically draw his robes close to his body.   
He hated the Kaleesh from the start. Hated, hated, hated him. It was a hate so strong no word in any language could find a definition ardent enough to show how much he hated the Kaleesh. Hated the cyborg. Hated the individual. Hated everything that was Grievous and anything that had to do with him.   
Just thinking about Grievous that one moment made him want to burst into tears at how frustrated he was trying to hold his opinions in. Now Rune, his closest colleague, was trying to pry his thoughts out of him. If that’s what Rune wanted, that’s what Rune was getting.  
Nute yelled the foulest insult in the Neimoidian language and began his maudlin tirade. “Well, you see Haako,” he hissed, “Poggle made an influx of Battle Droids so great t’at he and the Count surmised that t’ey wouldn’t be able to approach battle without proper instruction. Now, I’m sure you already know t’ey had t’at bitch Ventress already working wit’ them and our Gunners. Wit’ all t’is money we had, we could ‘ave created stronger forces in our military, but no! Dooku and Poggle were convinced t’e droids needed a General!” Rune stared at him in trepidation, and attempted to interject before Nute raised his hand and continued.  
“Don’t be impertinent!” the Viceroy snapped. “I didn’t know t’e General was going to be t’e remains of t’at Kaleesh Banking Enforcer! T’ere was no meeting held about it t’at most of us were aware of. San Hill…t’at bastard.” Gunray shook his head in disbelief. “He knew. He knew about t’is all along. San Hill…Grievous…by t’e gods…”  
“You’re drunk, Nute,” Rune spoke icily, trying to avert his eyes away from the Viceroy’s. “I told you drinking t’is stuff wasn’t good for your health.” The Lieutenant felt his cheeks flush as he spoke, the aphrodisiac abilities of the beverage starting to kick in for him. If only it was working its magic on Gunray, yet he had a feeling the Viceroy had been drinking in superfluous extents before their bath.  
He put his hand on the rim of the tub to signify a hasty departure, but Gunray had caught on. “I am not drunk, Rune!” Gunray yelled, sweeping his hand over the lazuli table and knocking his drink clear off, ignoring the delicate shatter of frosted glass that spread on the green tiled floor like confetti. The Lieutenant now stared at the Viceroy in disbelief, seeing that Gunray was completely oblivious to his previous action.  
“Why did you kiss t’e General’s ass at Dooku’s estate t’en!?” Rune began to shout, pointing at the Viceroy. “You got all sentimental and said he’d make an excellent General to our d’oids.”  
Nute gave a sharp laugh that made Rune hug his legs closer to himself. “You t’ink I was serious!? I know t’at bastard is going to die in the first battle he is put in. He’s a droid, Rune. He’ll have him limbs chopped up or get shot in an…organic area. Do you really t’ink a droid can handle lightsabers as good as a Sit’ or a Jedi? Dooku is off his knocker!” he laughed again. “Oh, Dooku and Poggle will realize their mistakes…and I’ll be laughing, Haako. Laughing at how foolish t’ey were to put all their bets into so revolting.” At this point he was giggling so hard Rune expected him to lose his breath. He was already getting damn tired of Nute’s drunken diatribe and was now ready to leave. He stood up, much to Nute’s begs and angry weeping and stepped out of the bathtub.  
“You are being a’ asshole, Nute” Haako said languorously, wrapping a towel around his waist. “I do not know why you let a person like Grievous consume you in anger. Is t’ere something you’re not telling me?”  
Nute uttered a world just as foul as the previous. “Get out. Get t’e hell out right now. Why would I tell you anyt’ing if you won’t listen? Why would I tell you anymore about t’at Grievous in which he consumes me in wrath an’-”  
“You are definitely drunk,” Rune concluded, nodding his head as he went away all-too gladly. Nute soon stopped his crestfallen blubbering and instead began to smile. “If t’ere is one thing for sure, Rune. T’at General is NOT going to show power over me…t’at’s for damn sure!”  
Rune felt confused by Nute’s statement, then suddenly remembered a message he had to give to Nute from the Count, himself. The Lieutenant felt a wicked smile creep upon his face. If he had turned to look at the Viceroy in that one moment, he was sure Nute would have figured it out.  
“Oh, one t’ing,” Rune coughed, attempting to conceal his amusement. “Count Dooku would like you to contact the General as soon as you can. T’e Count wants you to send supplies for Grievous on Hypori pronto.”  
Even from the guestroom Rune was staying in two floors up, he swore he could still hear Nute’s inebriated screams.  
…  
Ventress clutched a hand uneasily to her seat, feeling lost despite the General’s elaborate maneuvers and following a carefully-planned trajectory. Amidst the darkness of outer space, the cockpit was illuminated with the faint red glow from a light on the roof, the same color as the outer radiance of her lightsaber. While Ventress kept two fingers lingering around the co-pilot yoke, Grievous seemed to have the aircraft under his tactful control, his digits wrapped around the steering gage with rapt care.  
His plan, while overly-eloquent and sumptuous, had managed to execute itself exceptionally well. Designating the Geonosian’s fleet to fly in specific order (with the Ion-cannon cruisers in the back and middle of the fleet while the travel and carrier ships flew near the perimeters…and some other commands Ventress had not paid keen attention to), their ship was located in the very front of the armada, with all the ships following slowly behind. If there was a lifeform with an optical vision large enough see the fleet in its grandiose splendor, they would be witnessing a rare and peculiar flotilla, indeed.  
Even with the cyclopean ion-cannon cruisers and sharp-looking destroyers protecting their most valuable assets, Ventress would have felt vulnerable if it weren’t for the organization of the fleet; now she was feeling they could conquer whole star systems with their convoy. She wished their end destination wasn’t Hypori.  
Feeling rather lugubrious despite their so-far victorious voyage, she attempted to relax in her chair and remain in the present, but it was nearly impossible to do when you had one of the most treacherous occupations in one of the most hunted-down sects in the Galaxy. Keeping her anxiety to a minimum, she turned a sideways glance at the General.  
From his almost relaxed state (or from what she could tell—it was difficult to do so when one’s body is like that of a droid’s), he seemed to be more ground into the mission than she was. Then again, looks could easily fool. She was sure she looked just as calm as he did.  
Red light dappled onto his body. He had thrown his cape off to the side, showing the reflection of red light gliding down his chest and abdomen in small dots. Despite this, his physique was mostly concealed in darkness, save for the dash of purple luminescence of the stars splaying against their knees and dashboard. His tawny eyes glowed in the dimness, embodying ferocity and vengeance, yet an intelligence foreign to most humanoid species. Ventress truly believed that eyes could be a mirror to ones soul, yet with Grievous, it would take more than one good look to even begin figuring out what his was like; whether it was because of hid droid physique she did not know.  
All she knew was how beautiful he looked at that moment. Engraving the scene in her mind, she could imagine such a scene being in a painting by a renowned, bohemian Neimoidian artist, proudly displaying his work to the curious mass public while the meaning behind it was only known by he and his coterie of spoilt, pseudo-intellectual cohorts. From Cato-Neimoidia’s infatuation with droids and technology, she could imagine that happening.

And the mere idea of it repulsed her.  
Distracting herself from such a repugnant thought, she noticed the scratches riddled on his chest and thighs, and her curiosity got the best of her.  
“Wow. What the hell happened to you?” she torpidly asked. “Looks like you just came of a bar fight with a Gen’Dai.”   
Grievous made an ambiguous noise in the back of his throat before looking at her with an expression in his eyes just as abstruse.  
“What do you mean, Commander?” he asked coldly.  
She looked at him incredulously. “So you’re just going to pretend you don’t have more gashes on your body than a slave in Mos Eisley?”   
Grievous looked down at himself and purred keenly, looking down at the scratches that riddled him. He had forgotten that he had acquired these “scars” after the flashback he had one night after training on Coruscant. Was this why the Count had looked at him indignantly in the shuttle on the way to Geonosis? Did Poggle and the others notice? Did he even really care?  
“And why does that matter to you?” he demanded, locking his fingers in place.   
Ventress lay back in her chair and crossed her arm languidly around her abdomen, keeping her fingers steady on the yoke. “It doesn’t, but you must admit that it’s quite strange that you’ve already acquired damage before we’ve even set foot in combat.”  
Keeping her face straight into the stars, she could feel a tension in the room suddenly become like as musk: thick, tense, and buzzing with confusion. She heard the General situate himself uncomfortably in his seat before exhaling a heavy sigh; a sigh that sounded like it was coming from deep in his throat instead of transmitting through his vocabulator.  
“I’m worse off with my mind than I am with the fiercest masters of the Jedi council,” he murmured in a tone she had not heard him speak in before. It was light and carefully spoken, lacking the usual growl and raspiness of his synthetic voice. The Commander suddenly hilted her breath and moved as far to the right of her chair as she could, keeping her knees pointed acutely from the control panel.  
“And…why do you say that?” she asked, her speech taut. By the gods, don’t tell me he had PTSD, too.   
The tension was growing even stronger now, and seemed to be branching out like tendrils. If she had been looking at him, she was sure she could see the glazed anxiety his eyes sometimes showed when he was in a state of turmoil. It happened rarely, but enough for her to notice.  
“I-I shouldn’t have said anything,” he finally said. “The neuroses I probably deal with you’re battling as well.”  
“Ah, so you do have PTSD,” Ventress said, bitter humor starting to leech into her voice. “So it extends to those in the Confederacy as well. Makes sense. You should have seen that bounty hunter Durge at that meeting being held when you were oh-so formally introduced. I could almost see the flashback he was having.”  
“There were bounty hunters at that meeting?” Grievous asked, trying to push the sordid subject away. “I thought I was only being shown to the Separatist Council.”  
“Oh, he was the only one,” Ventress confided. “He’s the only Bounty Hunter Dooku trusts and puts his confidence in. Quite frankly, I trust the Gen’dai bounty hunter more than the aristocrats and the patricians that make up the Senate.”  
“That’s an unpleasant thought,” Grievous said, agitatedly. “I do not disagree with you, but there must be somebody there.”  
“Oh there are,” Ventress spoke placidly. “But the more well, positive ends of the scale are the others who put their trust into the Confederacy. I do wonder, however, if there would be this many and many more in growing numbers if they got a chance to meet any of the covetous senators and Council members behind it. I will admit, if I had known about the sheer amount of them and how much we had to rely on them, I would have been a little more disconcerted to take the position as a Commander of the Droid Armies and the Neimoidian Gunners.”  
She gained confidence to look over at the General once more, and he appeared to be in a relaxed state, despite their conversation about acrimonious associations.  
“Especially that scum, Gunray,” Grievous spoke aloofly. “I have met him before…before this,” he motioned his hand to his body. “He was dreadfully generous toward San Hill, but you could just tell Hill was downright frightened of him. I’d see him write memoranda on what to say and what not to say to the Viceroy whenever he came for one of his ‘visits.’”  
Ventress completely froze in her seat, her fear of looking at him in the eye completely vanished as she stared at him disbelief. “Y-you knew Gunray before you the shuttle accident—when you were working for the IGBC?”  
The General remained so nonchalant in his body language and his eyes remained placid, as if what he was telling her was common knowledge. “I didn’t really know him per say—but it was best that we didn’t. He was such a speciesist dickhead he almost had San Hill fired from his position because of me. He did not want any species from the Outer Rims to be working in negotiations and trade. Obviously, once he became part of the Separatist Council, Dooku made him change his ways, with much reluctance from the cowardly party.”  
The Commander’s eyes widened, and she clutched the handles of her seat. “H-He almost had San Hill fired because of you? What an idiot! I always knew he was an asshole, but I had no idea about his fervent speciesism.” She sighed irritably, running her nimble fingers through her sprouting hair. “Sadly enough, it makes sense. He and his accomplice, Rune were livid once they learned I had accepted the position as a Confederate Commander. They stopped once they learned what a Force-push was.” She smiled briskly before her thoughts once again expended her.   
“Then why did he act surprised when he saw you at that assembly—where you introduced yourself?”  
Grievous suddenly made an unusual sound in the back of his throat and turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling in the magenta luminescence. “Because the bastard thought I was dead, and that my funeral had been held in private service.”  
She looked at him in confusion before he imperturbably lay his head in his lap, his face pointed downward toward his knees, and rested his hands on the back of his head. He remained in this position for many moments before his frame began to shudder, taking a sharp intake of breath before he trembled again. Ventress cocked her head and raised her brow at such unusual behavior, but before she could inspect closer, a startlingly loud sound emitted from the depths of his throat, coming in intervals that grew quieter with each passing one. His body trembled with each interlude, and he curled himself up more and more they flowed forth.  
He was laughing.  
It was a strange thing to hear being emitted from him, and it was coming from deep within him—something that was either not transmitting through his vocabulator or the hardware was advanced enough to make some sounds appear natural. She highly doubted it was the latter, as she disbelieved the Geonosians would go that far to replicate something they most likely had never heard before—and why would they? She doubted he had ever laughed while he was in a Bacta tank, or while being prodded and operated on, or while he was being fit into his new body.  
And now that he was laughing, it was about embittered, detestable relations. The thought made her smirk inordinately. It seemed to be pure CIS that you found black humor in besmirched individuals and their narcissistic ways.  
And why did that have to be so damn funny?  
The General finally sat up, breathing unsteadily, and fastening his hands on the yoke to keep them steered on course. Once in a while, he gave a mixture of an indignant sigh and a suppressed snigger, laying a hand on his left breast as he did so, as if his lung were to collapse. She still sensed his bitterness and anger, and she could almost feel it simmering inside of him. It was obvious that the Neimoidian, despite being an overt coward and easy to frighten, held a power over Grievous that was intangible to most. Despite their misgivings, Gunray was still firmly tied with both the Count and the Banking Clan Chairman, the two who had so-called created Grievous. Did this mean that Gunray legally held an authoritative power over the General?   
Why did the General cause her to conjure up such unsettling observations and questions? It was beginning to disturb her greatly, and she attempted to push all thoughts of the Viceroy away from her more fanciful worries.  
Even though she never considered altruism to be one of her top priorities, she found herself feeling a tinge of sympathy for the General. She hoped she would never have to know what it felt like to be entirely encapsulated by an alloy, to have to accept this body created by different beings and proprioceptively accept it as your real one.  
And then wonder if because your body was created by somebody, if you were still the same person or if you legally belonged to the individual who could now proclaim that they created you.  
Deep inside, she could see that he constantly thought he would never become his own individual. He was property, a being that could be passed around from authority to the next, just because of a shuttle crash caused by the Republic and a body designed by Dooku and the Geonosians. She could sense a pent-up anger, along with an attempt for trying to accept who he now was while still clinging to the past. It was truly miraculous how he could make himself appear so stoic yet have so much occupy his mind.   
It was instances like this she sometimes wished she wasn’t Force-sensitive.  
She focused ahead and kept her body rigid in position, distracting herself with the beautiful blueness the stars emit in their clusters and the dusty planet of Hypori that was becoming larger in their view with each passing minute.  
“Don’t let the rich people bother you,” was all she could find herself voicing outside her head. “You have more power over them than they do you, and they realize that.”  
She felt his molten gaze on her, and she couldn’t help but find herself looking back toward it. Seeing the emotion that lay behind them had her wish she didn’t.  
“It’s rich people that made me,” he growled rancorously. “You cannot ignore their pestering and invidious commentary when they are the ones who made you.”  
Ventress felt the filters she kept on herself switch off and the biting frustrations of her most hidden thoughts suddenly spill forth. “They did NOT make or create you you!” she snapped, keeping one hand on the axis while she turned her body fully in his direction. “You are and have always been your own individual. They do not get rightful proprietorship over you because they did the right thing. I know you must feel alien in that body, but it is rightfully yours—and if you don’t accept it as such people will find ways to take advantage of you.”  
There was much more she wanted to say, but it all sounded so wrong and intrusive. She had already spouted forth a nagging concern for him, and now she was sure she had just made him feel weaker.   
Grievous feel silent and didn’t respond right away, but she could tell he was taking in what she had just said. He had turned away from her to look forward into the platitude of cosmos. It was strange that his droid body sometimes seemed to ripple, as if he were stretching a muscle. It had to be a trick to the eyes, as his armor was made of a durable alloy and not something soft and life-like. Still, it possessed a flexibility that showed the most agile, perfunctory movements; especially in the area of his chest, where most of his preserved organics were located. When he remained still and if she observed well enough, she could see it rise up and down with each silent breath he took. It was inexplicable, incredible, and uncanny all at once.   
“I find it all-so intriguing how we can form a companionship off the odious animosity we have for two Councils and their bizarre ideals,” was all he said, now turning a side-glance in her direction.   
Ventress could only find herself nodding at this point. There was something in his voice that indicated bother, but her sudden proclamation had been personal, and she had been the first one to introduce an uncomfortable subject. She was surprised that he had not become angered. At the very least, she hoped that he didn’t think she was using him as well.  
By the gods, she hoped it didn’t even cross his mind.  
“Let’s not even talk about rich people right now,” she said. “It’s strangely ill-fitting.”  
She turned to focus back to her piloting before the intercom on the control panel began to irritably beep. Ventress slowly reached her hand toward the apparatus and accepted a holocomm message, lo and behold to reveal Gunray, flickering blue in the screen, in shabby dress and a hat that fell crooked on his bald head. He looked to be in disrepair, yet he pulled anxiously on his robes and flashed her a weak grin of ersatz.  
Oh, son of a—  
“Ahh…General, General and Commander,” he said informally, clasping his manicured hands together in feigned excitement. “It’s so nice to see two of our strongest forces teaming together to fight for t’e better of the Galaxy.”  
Ventress resisted rolling her eyes and smirked. “Cut the cliché primer and just tell us why you called.”  
“Now Ventress, you must not be insolent. I am not doing for business association, just for t’e personal interest,” Gunray said with the same smile, but his voice was beginning to tremble with ire.  
“Address me the occupation I was assigned,” Ventress spoke coolly, attempting to show dominance. “I never gave you permission to address me by my name. Now, tell us what you’re calling about.”  
“I am calling to inform you t’at I will be sending freighters from Cato-Neimoida to your camp on Hypori,” the Viceroy said all-too-calmly. “They are full of materials and food rations t’at you will most likely need while you are t’ere.”  
Ventress quirked a brow and looked at the General, who looked just as confounded as she was. She silently mouthed a “What?” in his direction before turning back to face Gunray, who was rubbing the bags from under his eyes before he promptly snapped to attention.  
“That is…generous of you,” Ventress spoke quietly, wondering how in the name of Talzin she could use such a praise toward the Viceroy. “May I ask though, why are you doing this?”  
“Like I said earlier, personal interest and feeling at need to assist t’ose who are fighting for the greater of the Galaxy. T’is is costing me a generous amount of credits, as Hill isn’t helping me worth a—t’ese are coming out of personal funds,” Gunray teetered, but continued to smile uncomfortably. “Besides, you cannot possibly ‘ave enough rations and materials for such a long period of stay on a boiling, hot, miserable—safe haven for the Geonosians.”  
“We do, actually,” Ventress smiled confidently. “We’ve got about 3,000 individuals traveling with us to this planet, over 20,000 battle droids, nearly 2 tons of dried and canned goods, some fruit saplings, 1.5 tons of steel frames for housing, tarping, we have an abundance of water we can extract from one of its moons…”  
“Ah, I didn’t ask for a full inventory,” the Viceroy said, clearly flustered. “But it is not enough, t’is I know. To put into synopsis: I will be sending frighters to Hypori with t’e necessary supplies.”  
The General pushed himself forward in his chair and stared dead-on in the eyes of Gunray. “You are not aware of how dangerous that is,” he responded cautiously. “The battle on Geonosis is prompting a massive entourage of ships being sent from the Republic to aid their armies. We have escaped from there just in time for us not to be caught on their radar. However, if you send your freighters to Hypori from Neimoidia, there is no doubt that it will go unnoticed. If they see these ships, they’re obviously going to be suspicious.”  
Ventress folded her arms loosely over her chest. “And unfortunately, your reputation across the whole galaxy has been tainted ever since you leaked the location of a droid factory on Geonosis and from your botched assassination attempt of Republican Senator, Amidala,” she stated as concisely as she could. “Let’s also not forget your escaped imprisonment after four trials you faced with the Galactic Senate. It is because of this you have a bounty on your head worth millions.”  
The Viceroy eyed them both in stunned silence before he began to sputter. “T-T’at is none of your business! I am trying t’a help, and you’re both—“  
“None of our business, eh?” Ventress replied, stunned. “Hah! Tell that to a whole galaxy, Gunray! The tabloids and all the newspapers had a field day with you! Maybe you shouldn’t have been a kriffing idiot and almost get our asses busted because you couldn’t keep your mouth shut—or your anger for a senator at bay.”  
The Viceroy clenched his teeth together and balled his taloned hands into fists. “Oh, you bitch,” Gunray hissed. “You conniving harpy!”  
“Somebody is being virulent,” Grievous said rationally. “Gunray, we can’t trust you with this. You’re not trusted. You’ll only put us in greater danger if you take that current course of action.”  
“You’re just being paranoid!” Gunray cried out, pointing at the General. “I try doing you all a favor, trying to save lives! And you’re the ones being virulent! You’re ungrateful, hostile, nasty—“  
“You’re not going to be saving any lives if you send those freighters out!” Grievous roared at the Viceroy. “You’re ships will be seen, and you bet your Neimoidian kriff will be caught! You’re putting people trying to escape the tyranny of their home planet in danger just by speaking to us! We reject your offer, now have a good day.”   
Before another tirade could be exchanged, the General ended the holocomm call with a faint press of a button. He sighed angrily and sat back in the pilot chair, quickly putting his hands back on the yoke and steering them steadily—but kept his steely eyes on the control panel.  
“That was unnerving,” he said. “That bastard better not call back again.”  
“That was rather odd, to say the least,” Ventress agreed. “And now he has me gravely worried. I wonder why he offered to send freighters for our assistance.”  
“He can’t be that irrational. Even he must have acknowledged what a hazardous move that would be.”  
“Then why would he offer? If the plan is to put us in peril, then he’d be going down with us. C’mon, now! Not many people have ships like the Viceroy does.”  
“True, and he’s no kamikaze by any means,” the General concluded. “Maybe he lost a bet with Haako.”  
“Now you’re being idiotic,” Ventress chided, judging it was safe to do so. “He wouldn’t want us dead, anyways. He relies on us, and if we died because of him—he’d have to go through the wrath of Dooku.”  
The General simply shook his head and emit a confused sigh. “Maybe we should contact the Count about this matter. He’d know what to do.”  
Ventress nodded and cautiously sent a holocomm invitation to the Count, which was answered so quickly Ventress had not even situated herself to face the front from the previous call.  
“What is it you are calling about?” the Count’s flickering blue form asked drowsily. “I thought all the plans had been situated.   
“It’s…not that,” Ventress said hesitantly. “We got a strange call from Gunray. He wanted to send an armada of freighters to our base on Hypori. We were wondering if…”  
“We were wondering if you could persuade him not to do so,” Grievous intervened. “We do not think it would be the best decision for safety reasons.”  
The Count was suddenly roused from his half-lidded lethargy. “Y-you rejected his offer?” he grilled.   
“Yes,” Grievous said, becoming cautious of the Count’s growing anger. “We already have plenty of rations and materials to thrive. If he sent his freighters, they would no doubt cross the paths Republican armadas have made to assist their armies on Geonosis. They’ve even started to create obstructions from foreign aid and trade!”  
“And they’re most likely going to figure out where these ships are coming from,” Ventress added. “Considering Gunray is on the top of the criminal list. They’re after him more than they are Hill or Haako.”  
The Count’s shoulders tensed. He bit his bottom lip, and Ventress could see his hands beginning to clench to his sides. It was right then she regret saying a word, and waited for the diatribe to begin.  
“How dare you be so impertinent!?” he demanded going absolutely livid. “It was I who asked him to get in touch with the two of you so he could send the armada out. Are you both disobeying me already?”  
Ventress looked at him in near-disbelief. “You were the one who ordered him to do so? B-but why?”  
“I’m sure he’s already given you the details,” the Count growled. “Now, you’re going to call him back this instance or you’ll both never be seeing the sun again!”  
“But Count,“ Grievous intervened. “It’s dangerous! There’s a—“   
“Don’t be mistrustful,” The Count replied hastily. “Now do it!” He hung up before either of them could make a rebuttal, and Ventress felt that if he had not hung up she would have said something that would have ended with her arms broken.  
Grievous glanced at her, already feeling lost. “This is absolutely weird. I’m surprised it’s he who executed that order.”  
Ventress wiped her eyes and hunched herself in the co-pilot chair. “Maybe they know what they’re doing. Maybe we are just being paranoid.”  
She sent the call to Gunray, who responded to the call more quickly than the Count had.  
“Ah, General and Commander, he sighed, smiling once more and clasping his hands together. “I had a feeling you’d call back…”


	7. The Realm of Hypori

Chapter 7~The Realm of Hypori

-Hey guys! Long time no update! Sorry for being so late with this one, but I’ve been more busy than usual and in the meantime have been plotting out the course of this story. I don’t want to publish anything I’ll regret later on, I just want to be careful.-

Also, thank you Celgress, SupernaturalGodzilla, WalkMoonWall (ao3), IvoryInkwell (a03), Starcross (ao3) and a Guest for your reviews!  
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Hypori was—by far—the most desolate planet Ventress had ever found herself on. The sky, the ground, the geology (which was few and far between) was all the same: monochromatic, dusty and brown. Other than the Techno Union Droid Factory (which Ventress couldn’t tell was immense for such an establishment or not due to there being nothing else around it to compare it to), the land seemed to be touching the sky in the distance. No rivers, puddles, or even bumps in the terrain signified anything unique about the area they were in. At least Ratattak had its charm and beautiful, white-boled forests. This was an ongoing high desert with no evidence of any botanical life around them.  
This planet gives the creeps. Ventress shuddered, wincing as her bare feet touched the rather hot ground. She slipped on some boots and continued to explore, even though she didn’t see the point in doing so. There was nothing much here but their established outpost and the droid factory—which painted the terrain they were in with an ominous shadow that cast itself many feet forward like a hungry giant. There was an occasional burst of ferocious wind, but other than that, the planet was eerily quiet. The Geonosian ships still had a while before officially landing, and she hoped they had nailed the coordinates down correctly.  
She wondered why the Geonosians had decided to come here, out of all places. Yes, it was close to their home planet and they didn’t want to be caught by the Republic, yet there were several other planets left uncharted off Republican territory they could have chosen. She did, however, understand their reasonings; as the planet bore a large similarity to Geonosis, as well as possessing the largest and most erudite droid factory in the Outer Rim.   
As she continued to explore, she heard what sounded like a faint, monosyllabic song tinged with a high-pitched bass, followed by the sound of rippling water and a deep, resounding, laugh. Attempting to find the source, she turned around and only found the General, standing under the shadow of the droid factory and staring at her. It’s so hot here.  
“You look rather ill,” he cautioned her.  
She sighed and rubbed her fingers through the fluff of her hair, the sounds all disappearing and melting into the morose silence of the realm. “I-I’m fine,” she found herself snapping, pouring the sand and shrapnel out of her boots. In an attempt to distract herself, she pretended to scrutinize the details of the factory. “Huh. It’s quite enormous, but doesn’t seem big enough to contain a cruiser with ion cannons.” The thoughts of such a mammoth ship in their control sent an arboreal tremor throughout her body. She could hardly believe they were advancing to such high levels in both ranking and power—not that she was fighting for the latter—yet if it meant the eventual destruction of the Jedi Council and the horrible corrupt government the Jedi affiliated with, so be it. Yes…so be it.  
“I’m still not sure how I feel about Gunray sending us materials and rations. The only positive I can think from it for now is that it should arrive in one day—Coruscant hours.” She was attempting to divert herself from her surroundings, but bringing up Gunray was now having her worry now about criminal and judicial issues instead of the simplicity and eeriness of a terrain. She cursed to herself inside her head.   
Grievous turned to look at the factory, still paying attention to what she was saying. “Hm. Do not worry about it, Commander,” he spoke quietly. “There’s nothing we can do about it. Besides, we have more important procedures and plans to worry about.” He headed toward the front entrance of the droid factory, with Ventress sprinting forward and following closely behind, the sand becoming less dense and more stable the closer they approached it. Before the General could enter, the doors automatically opened, revealing the strangest and most uncanny individual Ventress had ever seen…even more so than the General, himself, whose eyes showed bewilderment and surprise.  
Looking on curiously, Ventress realized she was looking at a Skakoan male; at least, she assumed the individual was male, despite the epicene appearance. He appeared to be wearing a long, flowy, blue pressure suit, with his mouth and olfactory senses covered by a metal vocalizer and protective wear over his eyes. The only organic part showing from his elaborate attire was his head, which was green, small, and cylindrical, with the top of it curved and caved in unlike the domed, rounded shape of most bipedal, societal species. He was very odd-looking and intriguing, to say the least.  
“General Grievous and Commander Ventress, I presume,” a deep, resonating voice bellowed from the Skakoan’s vocalizer, holding out his hand to the General. Grievous shook it awkwardly before Ventress was offered a handshake.  
“Correct,” Ventress spoke boldly, staring into the black optics of the Skakoan. “And you are…?”  
“Tambor,” he replied, letting go of her hand. “Wat Tambor. I was the entrepreneur and CEO of this Droid Union before handing the reigns to Dooku. I’m sure you know this already, but just to clarify, this droid factory is at your disposal for these…upcoming disputes.”  
“Not just upcoming,” Grievous said right after Tambor had finished speaking. “Just…even with the pledge you have giving to the Separatists and the reigns being given to Dooku, do you still have a liberal amount of control over the Techno Union?”  
“Oh most certainly!” Tambor expressed proudly, his voice taking on a bold tone before becoming monotonous once again. “I consider this to be a partnership with Count Dooku. I still adhere to the title “Foreman” as both my occupation and when I am introducing myself to potential clientele.   
Clientele? “So you’re a supervisor?” asked Ventress.   
Tambor gave a stiff nod. “Yes. If you are both interested, I can give you a tour of the factory to show what you’ll both be working with. This is nearly the entire Techno Union army you’ll be dealing with.”  
Grievous glanced at Ventress. “I believe it sounds like a good idea, but I believe you should also do a more elaborate tour with the Geonosians,” the General said after a moment. “How long will you be here, Tambor?”  
“I’ll be heading off in a week—Hypori week that is. I am to attend a meeting with several other senators and banking affiliates to discuss the conflict on Geonosis.”  
The thought of the uprising on Geonosis made Ventress’ cheeks turns pink. “So you know about it as well,” she said, approaching the door Tambor held open for them to enter. As she did, she felt chilly air envelope her.   
“I don’t see how you couldn’t know,” Tambor said matter-of-factly as he shut the door behind him. The Foreman walked ahead of them, beckoning them to follow him. The Skakoan was heading toward an emanating orange glow coming from below. Apparently, the apparatus and the droids were located underground instead of being near the entrance, which, in Ventress’ opinion, made more sense.  
Passing by a group of empty offices and whirring machines, Tambor stepped onto a metal grating, overlooking the orange hue. The General and the Commander hesitantly followed, with Grievous’ metal, clawed feet scraping against the steel as he sauntered. Ventress took notice at how the General anxiously avoided catching his toes between the gratings of the steel, and almost offered to help him, before realizing how juvenile he’d most likely feel if she did so. Soon they were both standing next to Tambor on the high mezzanine, which overlooked the largest, most impressive complex Ventress had ever seen.  
A chamber of what looked and certainly looked like magma boiling in the middle of the room, its walls high and made of a durable metal. Around its perimeter stood a squadron of B1’s, B2’s, and BX Super Commando’s, who were not armed and appeared to be deactivated, while above them a was an overhead conveyer, with wiry steel appendages that latched itself onto the back power source of the battle droids hanging off of them. They came from a separate area of the factory, being slowly brought out of a chamber interconnected into the wall near the ceiling, a light emitting rom the back. Ventress watched with piqued interest as, once in a while, whether the droid was defuncted or made incorrectly, it would not remain on the overhead conveyer, which would instead drop it into the fiery pit below. Intrigued, she soon swept her gaze to the bizarre, eight-legged spider droids that stood in symmetry along the west and east walls, also deactivated. The wires attached to their legs were still dangling from their metallic extremities, their photoreceptors showing only dimness, and their bodies absolutely still—but they still gave off the unsettling vibe that they were very much alive, and ravenous for war. She glanced at other droids that resembled their brother and sister models, yet had still not been given numerical nomenclatures. At least, from what her blood-and-flesh vision could make out from such a distance.   
“Impressive,” she finally said after a while, unsurely, smiling hesitantly and nodding, taking it all in.  
“I think it will be most suitable for you Geonosian fleet,” the Skakoan said with a hint of distaste, standing between them and looking straight ahead. “I will show them everything once they get here.”  
“That would be…excellent,” Ventress coughed inelegantly, finally noticing that the General had not spoken or uttered a word since they stepped out onto the mezzanine. As had Tambor, who turned his attention fully to Grievous, whose eyes were lazily yet not uninterestedly scanning every detail of what lay within the complex.   
“Ah, Grievous. Imagine it all,” Tambor spoke with a surprisingly bold tone, balling his hand into a fist and holding it in front of him for dramatic affect. “You, leading all these droids in a battalion—no, battalions—all across the galaxy! Imagine it, but with triple the abundancy than you’re already seeing!”  
The General’s eyes seemed to get darker, his pupils becoming marginally smaller before he, too let out a brisk cough of his own and again stood to his full height. “The Count spoke of a battle cruiser with ion cannons being housed within this facility,” he addressed suddenly. “Is that correct?”  
The Skakoan stood back, obviously affronted by the General’s abrupt commanding attitude. “That’s positively ridiculous. Does this complex really look large enough to hold something that gargantuan and byzantine? I do not know why he told you two that.”  
“I was thinking the same thing,” Ventress agreed, though she still felt horribly disappointed and surprised.  
“Does your fleet not have any ion cannon cruisers?” Tambor asked, possibly incredulously.  
“It does,” Grievous responded without preamble, almost sounding boastful. If he wasn’t such a subtle character, Ventress could have sworn his chest would have puffed with futile pride. “They’re small, however, and we’d much prefer the Geonosians use it for their own benefit.” His eyes narrowed. “However,” he enunciated, “We will be receiving one a great larger than what the Geonosians possess…the ship that will be transporting Gunray’s supplies and materials here.”  
The Skakoan suddenly backed away, as if he had been prodded with fire. “W-what? What supplies. I wasn’t made aware of—”  
“Oh for Gods sake,” the General interrupted, his voice rising to a tremble. “Why are the communications between all of us so poor? First, Dooku doesn’t tell us he’s sending droid militia to Geonosis until after he’s done so. Then he says we’re at war, then we’re told Gunray has been ordered to send supplies with the Count consulting us first beforehand, and NOW you haven’t been told about the cruiser being sent from the Viceroy, himself to this planet for “valuable materials. I feel like there’s a bunch of action behind taken without a lot of us being referred or told about beforehand!” If he wasn’t wearing a mask, Ventress would have believed his cheeks to be turning the brightest shade of crimson, his brows furrowing beneath the metalloid material. His digits clamped securely to his side, digging into his alloyed thighs. He seemed more confounded than enraged by these secretive actions put into motion.  
“I am just as perplexed as you are, General,” Tambor said calmly, yet probingly. “When was this information exchanged to you?”  
“On our way here,” Ventress said quietly. “I am not one to convert the time of our speed traveling here or the time it was here when we arrived, but we were a little over halfway here when we were informed.”  
“In that case, I’m going to get in contact with the Viceroy as soon as—”  
“Don’t do that,” the Sith forewarned, crossing her arms protectively with her chest. “Or else you’ll have to go through the wrath of Dooku. It was he who gave these orders in the first place. The Viceroy simply executed them.”  
The Skakoan stiffly shook his head, his body movement remaining as still as a protocol droid. “And I would rather not get on the bad side of Gunray as well. At this point, I feel he holds more authoritarian power over such…rash decisions. I would also rather not be an obstruction to Dooku’s plans, for he must have a cogent idea of what he’s doing.”  
“These are unwise conclusions, Tambor,” Grievous proposed honestly. “It all sounds conjectural. You must hold a more powerful position over the Viceroy than you realize if you have control over the Techno Droid Union Factories and its shareholders. I think maybe Dooku and Gunray would have a better reason to back out of this deal if they heard from your perspective.”  
The Skakoan stood there in a contemplative state, his mechanical-sounding breath gently humming amidst the noisy backdrop of the factory. The reiterating noises of conveyers clanking against lifeless metal limbs seemed to melt away from their senses softly, like dwindling rain on a windowsill. The pungent smell of alloy and melted steel still permeated the air, a chemical afterburn soon setting in and sending an ungodly smell reeking throughout the walls of the enormous infrastructure. It smelled of death—if dense smelled of sundry metal converted into hot, dense matter.   
“It is even more unwise to question the actions of those who are running this bureaucracy with the flick of a finger,” Tambor finally said, quietly. The factory walls began to lightly quake as the sound of hundreds of powerful engines emit from above the high ceiling. She and Grievous looked up inquisitively while the Skakoan clasped his hands in what must have been the closest he could come to showing excitement.  
“They’re here!” he cried, his monotonous voice only raising in pitch. To Ventress’ relief, he motioned them to follow him outside. “Come, I must prepare for the welcoming orientation.”  
…  
The Geonosian’s flotilla had landed perfectly in the order in which they had been flying in, as if they were to always follow the vague orders of a new General in a methodical formation. The Sith, despite her slightly jaded outlook, had been impressed by their piloting skills and the systematic arrangement of their immense ships. Even the gargantuan ion cruisers had lined up alongside each other in a perfect, orderly fashion—now casting vast shadows on Hypori’s substrate. It all served to look more badass and intimidating, and she would not have been surprised in the slightest if that was the intention.  
Ventress stood on the right of Wat Tambor, with Grievous occupying his left. The three of them were standing at the foot of a grated staircase that lead within the factorial chambers. Their audience was 30,000 or more Geonosian’ss that stood clustered in the dusty, hot sunlight. Most of them stood in formations not unlike their armada, and the Sith apprentice surmised a great deal of these individuals who had decided to exile themselves from Geonosis were soldiers who were currently and had held position in the Geonosian military.   
Tambor was giving a long-winded, meticulous speech on the advantages of working for the droid Union, the benefits, the many different positions available depending on skill and rank, their alliance with the Separatists…Ventress in honesty felt little interest and didn’t fully tune into the supervisor’s oration, yet she stood there, immobile and smiling keenly, nodding every now and then whenever it felt evident or appropriate, or feign laughter when the crowd was doing so, or clap lightly when applause resounded from the Geonosian’s. Despite the Geonosian’s natural, disgruntled nature, a good many of them showed relief, and some even stood, trembling with a newfound excitement. It was much more satisfying to watch the diverse emotions and body languages expressed by a crowd of the insectoid race out of gratitude rather than a crowd of jaundiced, humorless Neimoidians, whom she was sure after her fair amount of being among the elite had contributed to her dismal, bored outlook a majority of the time. It was nice for once to see a change.  
Without warning, the General had spoken something, yet it was so short and quick she couldn’t awaken herself out of her daze to catch what he had said. Whatever the proclamation was, it had caused a reaction among the crowd. Most of the Geonosians were clapping inordinately, and some were even anxiously tittering, giddily whispering to the comrade standing alongside them. Tambor, despite not having proper eyes, seemed to be shooting the General a hostile glare, judging by Grievous’ improper reaction.  
“That is not something we need to discuss at the moment,” Tambor spoke hastily, turning his attention back to his future employees. “I don’t want to involve him in this orientation…that is something completely off-topic.”  
Tambor began to wrap up his speech, simply speaking about independence and innovation within the Techno Droid Union, which Ventress felt ashamed of catching the barest glimpse of during this whole discourse amongst what else he had possibly said during that hour. The Skakoan seemed earnest to wrap the speech up, cutting straight to the chase after the attention-spans of the Geonosians had begun to dwindle.  
“If you have any questions or concerns,” he concluded tediously, “you may approach what little of my previous employee staff I currently have staying in the factory domiciles. You will find me and the SR Manager in the recruitment facility when you are ready to fill out your applications. I hope your stay on Hypori will be one of comfort and like home.” He slowly raised his arm straight ahead of him, cocking it toward the sky.  
“FOR THE CONFEDERACY!” he chanted out, yet it lacked the usual tone and bite. Still, it evoked a reaction from the crowd, who quickly reciprocated at once and chanted “FOR THE CONFEDERACY! AT YOUR SERVICE GENERAL AND COMMANDER!” They all whooped and hollered at a mid-morning sky, before they quietly yet excitedly sought out to their convoy to unload what resources they had brought for their long stay on the alien planet.  
She was left standing there awkwardly, with Tambor retreating back to his private quarters within the factory and the last of the Geonosians heading to their flotilla, already starting to unload the ship’s contents onto the dusty Earth. Their intermingling voices combined with the sharp thuds of heavy crates resounded across the brown plains. Ventress gave an untranslatable sigh and turned to her left, only to realize that the General was not standing where he once was.  
I wonder where he went, she pondered. I didn’t even hear him leave.  
She fluffed up her hair and knew that just standing there wasn’t getting anything done, she departed down the factory stairs and made her way over toward the ominous fleet. The area was full of movement and boisterous activity, as the unloading of materials and resources commenced, and some of the Geonosians were already building domiciles merely a mile or two away from the factory’s edifice. A rogue lieutenant adorned in gray and brown bellowed orders in his native tongue to his fellow squadrons, who stacked and unloaded crates of food rations, clothes, artillery parts, tarps, etc. A small group of officers were already festooned in their formal attire, patrolling the perimeter of their established territory with their firearms already loaded, gripped tightly within their diligent, strong fingers.  
The sun beat on their backs, and it seemed the Geonosians had already grown accustomed to the heat and its bearings, let alone even be affected by it. She stood in the shadow of the right ion cruiser, feeling the coolness emit from its thick, steel-hide exterior and the shadow it cast over the terrain.   
Seeing that most of the Geonosian’s had already been assigned duties and were performing their tasks without any sort of trouble, and because she was bored with nothing better to do, she undid the buttons of her cloak and waltzed in through one of the lower-level entrances of the ion cannon cruiser, moving herself thoroughly away from the oncoming foot traffic of militia and freight-unloaders. They regarded her carefully, angling their bodies and possessed materials away from her as they walked past, none impertinent enough to ask why or what she was doing there.  
She kept her guard low and entered the ship, even more amazed by its sheer immensity and girth on the inside. It was monstrously huge, and where she stood alone, a variety of pathways and chambers branched off into their own citadels and stations. The lighting inside was dim, and the long, serpentine corridors that twisted themselves through this metal womb of networks sent a chill up the Sith’s spine. Despite its size, it felt strangely claustrophobic and encapsulating in a foreboding manner, as if the walls were constricting her within its womb. She had heard soldiers of many cultures and races address and regard these ships with feminine pronouns, and now that she was finally standing within the confines of one, she understood why they did. Whether that would comfort her or not if she found herself on a long journey in the voids of space within one of these cruisers she could not tell, yet just being in one was both chilling and tensely exhilarating.  
As the crew members came and went, she heard the echo of hundreds if not a thousand metal feet hitting the cruiser’s ground at once. Realizing what she was hearing without promptly seeing it, she stood away from the entrance as to not cause a hindrance. There, down a corridor in the middle, came a portentous silhouette walking stoically down its dimly-lit halls, nearly obscured in shadow and blackness. Behind could be nothing else but the sound of B1 battledroids marching with impeding footsteps. The few Geonosian engineers that had remained in the ship to inspect its interior were now swiftly exiting as the footsteps got closer.  
Remaining still and patient in her place, Ventress saw none other than the General, swathed elegantly in his red and silver robe, depart from the dark passage and into the sunlight-entrance, followed distantly behind by squadrons of B1 and B2 battledroids, whom had been salvaged by the engineers from Geonosis. They all shown an ochre brown and grey-blue in the sun and shadow, the B1’s holding their weapons close to their chests, clasped securely within their three-fingered hands. The B2’s simple walked with their arms rested at their sides, their right arms bearing laser rifles built into their wrists.   
They all stood, aligned perfectly next to and behind each other, more perfectly than any flesh-and-blood army could do. They followed their General silently, without regard to the immense metal nature around them. The General himself was just as quiet and still as they were, only breaking the meticulous motions to fix the belt that carried his lightsabers on his waist before continuing his mechanical march.   
Ventress watched in interest as he marched past her without averting his forward gaze, the droids following him out into the Hypori sunlight in one long, straight regiment. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, all in that moment, marching behind the powerful Separatist General. The light gleamed against his bone-colored body, while his droid soldiers simply remained the dusty colors they had showed off in the ion cannon.  
As they made their way out to the desert, Ventress slowly made her way out of the ship and was curious to follow. Before she could think much about it, a young Geonosian that wore little to no garb clambered his way toward her, inelegantly holding his hand in a salute above his brow as he did so.  
“Where would you like us to set up your tent, Commander?” he asked, clearly lost for breath. His lime-green chitinous wings hung dozily toward the ground.  
“Erm—” she spoke awkwardly, scanning the boring, unclaimed terrain that lay ahead of her. It still all looked the same to her. “Out in the part where it’s sandy,” she said, indicating vaguely ahead.  
The poor Geonosian looked confounded, yet too embarrassed to ask what she was talking about. “As you wish, Commander,” he said uncertainly, saluting her again before running back to unload off one of their freighters. Ventress paid little attention, only keeping her eyes steady on the General as he lead one of their many armies around the boundary of their recognized area, remaining absolutely silent as he did so.  
…  
She was exhausted.  
The days on Hypori proved to last much longer than on Coruscant and Neimoidia, which of course she was expecting. Much like Geonosis, days on Hypori seemed to last approximately 46.5 hours before heading into nighttime for the same amount of hours, which meant she would have to get used to two straight days (measured in Coruscant hours) of sunlight and two straight days of darkness, the latter she was not minding so much. She had been on Hypori for only 8 hours and she was more tired than she had ever been in her life.  
She had spent a majority of her day leading squadrons of droids ad nauseum throughout their base, spending hours simply walking in laps around the Geonosian’s territory and guiding the droids using simplistic sign language, such as raising right arm, bent 90 degrees upward toward the sky when she wanted them to stop, or abruptly force her right arm straight out if she wanted them to charge and fire, etcetera. It was both incredibly easy yet annoyingly difficult, as the droids would often misunderstand her when she gave them a voice command instead of a sign one, and the B1’s would speak to her in their oddly-pitched tenors. Great shooters. Good tacticians, and elegant soldiers they were, but intelligent they were far from. It was even more common for them to question her instruction, even when it was the most basic, simplistic command she could give.   
“Now, I want you all to march forth, separate into groups of ten, and then load your weapons,” she ordered to her squadron.  
“But ma’am,” the nearest B1 model objected, its voice and unexpected inquiry already making her want to slash its head off with her lightsaber. “What if the enemy starts shooting before we can separate into groups?”  
“Well, that might be that case occasionally,” she responded hastily, “but this is simply practice, and I’ll train you how to prepare yourselves before the enemy even has a remote chance of shooting at you!”  
“But ma’am,” another one had piped up. “Why do we need to separate into groups? Wouldn’t it make more sense to just charge at the enemy head on and separate individually depending on where the enemy is shooting from?”  
“I am training you all in many different kinds of positions you will be facing if you don’t get blown up ten seconds into your first battle, which I am trying to prevent from happening. Every enemy is going to have a different tactic. You’re already programmed to just move forward and shoot, so why not teach you some more “sophisticated” skills and ways to fight. Understand?”  
“But ma’am—”  
“I am not a “ma’am”, now shall I ever be a “ma’am”,” she growled under gritted teeth. “I am “Commander”. Commander Ventress. Now, if I hear any of you address me as “ma’am” one more time, you’re going to be kissing my lightsaber. You got that!?”  
She was met by silence, and the “training” had been great afterward.  
However, as the day ever-so slowly became evening, she had been awake on this planet for more hours than an average humanoid was awake during the day. She ended up sending her squadron away to retire, heading back to their shuttle to retrieve what little she had brought with her.  
The Geonosians were still toiling away, having fully set up small domiciles and tents as a large community before they could put in enough time to build more comfortable residences. For the small amount of time they had been given to do, she was impressed. They truly knew how to work with every resource, making sure none went to waste or was used frivolously. They were truly a race that survived on what they could find or save up.  
Seeing her tent in the distance, away from their camp, she hitched her belongings onto her back and made her way across the sand barefoot, which had cooled down much more than the temperatures it had been earlier that day. The air was starting to become bitter and chilly, like every desert she had ever been in. This was proving to her it would not be much different. The sand was course and solid, so she had no worry about sinking in and twisting her ankle or leg. It was still a long trek, as they had set up her sleeping quarter much farther away than she expected them to. Then again, she had barely indicated to them where she wanted it to put it in the first place, and she had absolutely no reason to complain. The sky was beginning to turn a gorgeous navy-blue, and was already scintillating with stars. It reminded her of Rattatak in a way, but she diverged herself away from the memory and simply thought about finally being able to relax and getting a good *half night’s* sleep.   
As she began to closely approach her tent, the sound of lithe footsteps sharply hitting the gritty sand not far behind her startled the Commander from her half-thoughts and daydreaming. She knew right away she wasn’t being followed by any Geonosian, as the steps sounded too lightweight and…carefully placed compared to the inadequate, clumsy steps of a purely biological organic.   
She refrained from putting her hand across her quickly beating heart. Expecting to turn around and see a couple of B1’s who had wandered away from their designated squadron and had gotten lost trailing faintly behind her, she was instead greeted with two tall, lissome droids adorned in sand-stained, pearl-grey cloaks that hung torpidly around their white, alloyed bodies and matching headdresses that pulled itself tightly against their inhuman faces. They both wielded electro-staffs as tall as they were, currently unignited—much to her relief. However, she thought little of her thankfulness toward their weapons being disengaged and focused in on the ruby-red optics that both the droids possessed, which looked even more soulless and penetrating than the shiny, black ones of her B1’s. In fact, much to her chagrin and her personal integrity, she found the B1 battle droids to be rather cute aesthetically, when they weren’t displaying their fierceness on the battlefield or acting like total idiots.  
These droids, however, instilled nothing but fear and morbid curiosity. They stood even more perfectly astute than even the keenest of the Super battle droids, and, despite their near-silent nature, showed an alien, mechanical intelligence that was most certainly foreign to most Separatist Droid soldiers. It had to be the way they moved. Or fought. Or spoke.  
IG-100 droids, she thought, both bewildered and somewhat scared. Magnaguards. She had seen them standing near Dooku on occasion, when the Count was to make some kind of rousing speech in front of a public he had never witnessed previously, but without the white cloaks. Gunray loved them around them because of course he did, they were taller than the Viceroy even with his stupid headdress on! Grievous had show a keen interest in them,and seeing the Magnaguards in action against a violent street gang in the middle of a Mos Eisley metropolitan square, she could now see why. They were pitilessly violent yet disquietingly tactical. When the IG-100 models began to improve in both physical durability and cognitive comprehension (as the programming behind these droids had become more lucid—allowing them to acquire knowledge of their occupation while being restricted by their software design intentionally), they began to be applied to more functions within the Confederacy than what they were originally meant for, and from a conference holo-call she had overheard between Dooku and Poggle the Lesser, the company behind their manufacturing, Holowan Labratories, had recently joined the Separatist Alliance, and began spreading claims that these droids were capable of fighting even the most erudite of the Jedi Order. It was a very audacious, broad claim, but once she saw them in action and in defense training, the Sith assassin, much to her estranged horror, was beginning to believe it.  
A brush of crisp desert air blew against the hairs on the exposed nape of her neck, followed by a harsh, sandy breeze blowing all around her. She remained still and attentive to the Magnaguards, who showed no reaction to the sudden bursts of sandy air that was slowly quieting down and swirling around their feet.  
“Why have you followed me here?” she demanded, pointing at the both of them.   
Both droids remained undeterred, their silvery capes swaying with the gentle breath of the wind.   
“We were to foresee that you do not wander into the territory of the General’s resting quarters during this time of the early night,” the left one spoke succinctly, in a voice much deeper and less mechanical than the B1’s.   
“That you arrive to yours, instead,” the other one summarized.   
Ventress quirked a brow.  
“So it was he who sent you two here to tell me—”  
“Not General Grievous. The Count,” one interrupted. The Count??  
The Commander was rather startled and unnerved by the droid’s understanding of sub-text and undertone when she spoke of “he”. Maybe these droids were even more smart than she imagined.   
“Why would I head over to Grievous’ sleeping quarters, anyways?” She asked, trying to sift a growing edginess out of her voice. “I have no lawful business to be there, nor do I possess the interest.”   
“We were enforced to make sure.”  
The Commander’s face turned an even whiter shade of pale than it was naturally. She had expected the Count to have made some enforcements (and of course—without telling her), but upon hearing this odd request, she felt that Dooku had multiple reasons construing within his impervious mind as to why he felt this had to be shared with her—and to have droids enforce it upon her, in the name of the Gods! It was like a demeaning joke, and she could just see the Count subtly smiling to himself as he spread this message to the Magnaguards.  
He didn’t trust her.  
“Don’t you two droids have anything else better to do?” she remarked, angrily. “Something actually benefiting?” She pointed to the commune of shanty houses that the Geonosian’s had constructed. “In fact, I command you to head over to the Geonosian commune and guard it. This instant.”  
They both remained firmly in their places, as if they had not processed what she had spoken.  
“I’m heading to my tent! Now, leave me be or else!”  
Both droids looked at each other momentarily, as if they could believe they were thinking what the other one was. Their red optics glowed on one another’s shoulders. They remained this way for a moment, then they both stood perfectly upright once more and turned on their heels to walk in the direction of the settlement, without exchanging another word to her.  
She watched them go, the light of Hypori’s moons reflecting off their bone-white bodies. A glint of her expected them to come back, but they seemed to be following her given orders…at least, it seemed that’s what they were doing. Were they going to report her to Dooku at the given chance?  
She pushed the horrible thought away and went inside her tent, tying the thick straps of the entrance tightly together before she even felt remotely comfortable getting undressed. Consumed by the darkness, she stood on her tiptoes and pushed open a flap on the ceiling, letting moonlight cascade down upon her. She looked up at the beautifully luminated sky with its moons and stars and all…and began to feel a little bit better.   
The tent was of more than accommodating size. She had been given a folding cot, a sleeping bag and a pillow, as well as small, portable desk with a chair. A lantern hung suspended from the top of the tent, but the moonlight was faring well enough for her. This was certainly much better than some of the guesthouses she had been bunked in when her more “complicated” missions had gone awry or when she was required to do even more research before taking affirmative action. It had been Gunray who had booked her in those establishments, as the arsehole was too cheap to even put Dooku’s most successful pupil in a sub-par room.  
She did not want to think about the Viceroy or the Count. Setting her travel bag down below her cot, she shed her clothes and wrapped the sleeping bag around her naked frame. It wasn’t warm per-se, but it was comfortable and condensing. She fell asleep in an instant.  
…  
And was woken up just as quickly.  
Just a mere four hours later, she heard what had to be a heavy ship ascending into the sand, which blew shrapnel and grains into the wind, thrown forcefully against her tent. The impact of the ship against the surface of the desert terrain was so strong it threw open the entrance of her tent and sent a mighty torrent of debris and dust within her quarters. Gunray’s ship!  
The Commander coughed and wretched violently. Throwing herself out of her cot, she shifted desperately through her bag until she found her small emergency ration bottle of water, which she swigged down half of until she felt the itchy dryness that was invading her esophagus start to disappear. Suddenly feeling very exposed, she quickly adorned her now partially torn, dirty clothing she had left on the floor, slipped her lightsabers into her waist belt, and ran out into the cool desert night. The sky still had a while before it reached its ethereal blackness, which signified the middle of the night on this alienated world.   
Even if it had been the middle of the night, she still could have seen this ship clear as day. It was a long, light metallic blue freighter that bore its moniker in a deep, burgundy gray—in the Neimoidian language. She would have been furious to note that Gunray had not taken any subtleties when choosing a freighter ship to send rations out to their planet despite their warnings, but with the radar detection the Republican fleet had, she was sure they would have figured it out anyway that the ship had come from Cato-Neimoidia AND was a Neimoidian ship. Still, the lack of thought when picking a ship that they knew would most likely spotted by a Republican barrage near Geonosis infuriated her greatly, and her bottled-up fury had her marching confidently up to the freighter docked in the sand, slightly ajar.   
Some had already beaten her to it. A large gathering of Geonosian’s had already gathered around the freighter in confusion and anger. The General was nowhere to be seen.  
Ventress saw that the clumsy docking job of the ship had blown waves of sand onto a cluster of residences, the structured knocked down into a heap of bent metal and tangled tarps. The Commander stared at the bedraggled, destroyed states of the domiciles in shock. Before she could scrutinize the damage that had been inflicted, a raucous yell soon erupted from the crowd of insectoids, which was soon joined by more yells and screams as the group began to cluster closer and closer to the source, like a pool of water being sucked slowly into a drain.  
Ventress pushed her way through the throng of cloying bodies, ignoring the flapping of their chiton wings against her as she made her way up to the front. A tall, emerald-eyed Neimodian stood at the open entrance of the freighter, dawned in the unorthodox gray-and-black apparel that was very unusual for their race, who seemed to naturally favor color and tradition. He looked jaded as ever, simply standing there tiredly as the Geonosians huddled and cried to him in their foreign language.   
She approached him stoically. The Neimodian upright and in salute, but it did nothing to wipe the bored expression off his face. The Geonosians seemed to quiet down and back away. But she could feel their anger brushing off of them in tidal waves, yet she knew they wouldn’t do harm.  
“Commander Ventress,” he saluted, frowning. “Nerei Malakhai. We weren’t expecting such an…interestingly timed shipment.”  
Ventress thought that Commander Malakhai was coming off as rather inurbane.  
“Did you see any Republican fleet ships on your way here?” she asked, steadily.  
Malakhai shrugged. “I didn’t see much on our way here.”  
“It doesn’t matter by what you saw. What did your radar pick up?”  
Malakhai frowned. “We didn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary, Commander. We were warned about t’e Republican troops being shipped out en masse to Geonosis, but we were ordered to take a slightly different route.”  
“Who was it who gave you the Command of this ship?”  
“Haako, but I am under t’ Command of Dofine”  
“Why is Haako involved in this?”  
“Beats me, Commander,” Malakhai shrugged. “Because he’s securing himself tightly with Gunray, I wouldn’t be surprised if he received his orders from t’e Viceroy.”  
“Or maybe vice-versa. Haako seems like the type to slither his way into personal situations. Even if he his usually a lot quieter and more subtle about it.”  
“Possibly so, Commander.”  
“What material goods do you carry on this ship?”   
Malakhai smiled faintly. “I hope you like canned fruit, Commander, because t’ere’s stashes and stashes of it along wit’ brined goods like mushrooms and some Neimodian delicacies, water, some essential baking flours and powders, blankets, cots, ammunition, liquid and crystallized iodine for the water extracted on the moons, tarps, some other housing paraphernalia, garbage cans…” as he continued to list, Ventress’ thoughts turned to worry once more, keeping her eyes hyperfocused on Commander Malakhai so that she could keep herself rooted while she tried to stagnate the fear within her.   
“That’s a commendable inventory,” she said after he was finished, not sure just to convince herself or if she truly felt that.  
He grinned, and seemed almost boastful. “Best of t’e best.” He tilted his head. “We were given specific instruction on what to bring under Commander Dofine, so you needn’t worry about a thing.”  
“Which Dofine?”  
“Daultay,” Malakhai stumbled. It was uncouth in Neimoidian culture to be addressing a higher-than-thou by his or her first name. “Daultay Dofine. He wasn’t able ta’ stick around for long, as he and his cousin, Lushros, were at odd-and-ends over each-other about this whole debacle.”  
“When you mean ‘this whole debacle’, are you talking about what’s currently occurring on Geonosis?”  
Malakhai’s cheeks flushed a deep green. “I’m not allowed to confide in such information, but to put succinctly, Captain Lushros Dofine doesn’t think Viceroy Gunray should be involved in imposing a hefty freighter ship to this colony while the battle on Geonosis continues its course.”  
The feeling is mutual, Ventress willed herself not to say. “And Commander Dofine thinks that Viceroy Gunray and Lieutenant Haako should be involved while Captain Dofine doesn’t?”   
“Well…kind of, yes. I just think Commander Dofine doesn’t want t’ere to be more of a feud than t’ere already is.”  
“Where is Captain Lushros Dofine? I’m surprised he hasn’t tried contacting us.”  
The Neimoidian Commander straightened his back. “T’e reason being he’s currently on t’e surface of Geonosis, still trying to evacuate.”  
“What?” Ventress gazed at him in surprise. “Why is he there?”  
“I was not disclosed such information,” Malakhai whispered. “All I am repeating forth was spoken to me by Commander Dofine. I do not know much of the current state of the Captain, other than he’s alive.”  
“Does he have reinforcements?”  
“He is with a group of Neimoidian mercenaries. As I said, Commander Ventress, I know nothing of the current state affairs other than he’s alive and hiding from the ‘Publicans. The only people he’s been communicating to are his cousin and t’e Count.”  
Ventress nodded, gravely. “When can you and your crew start unloading?”  
“Right away if you’d like.”  
Ventress turned to look back at the Geonosian throng behind her. They weren’t shuddering in anger any longer, but now seemed to be looking at the conversing Commanders curiously, remaining still, as if they were being held at pinpoint and were absolutely helpless. Some even backed away when she turned to look.  
“It’s okay,” she announced, turning herself completely around to face them. “These men are here to help unload more supplies to assist the commune. Extra food, water, and ammunition never hurts, right?” She was convincing herself again. “I don’t want any of you interfering with their work.” She shot a glance at the Commander behind her. “Aaaand….I’m sure his crew would be more than willing to help re-build the residences they accidentally destroyed with their cumbersome freighter.” She was grinning sardonically from ear to ear.  
Some of the Geonosians were beginning to grin with her. Commander Malakhai swallowed apprehensively.   
…  
Ventress stood back to watch the Neimodian crewman unload boxes upon boxes of supplies near the Geonosian camp, their foreheads gleaming under the light that billowed from within the freighter. The Geonosians, themselves had mostly dispersed back to the domiciles that remained intact, while some had remained to watch these strange alien men unload objects they already possessed, looking on silently. The Neimodians averted their gazes away from the other insectoid race, mostly out of fear.  
As she kept watch, the Commander began to ponder why she wasn’t seeing Grievous around. He had to have surely heard the freighter landing. Even if its ‘parking job’ had gone smoothly, he still would have felt and heard it. She winced. The General had displayed to her that he possessed delicate aural sensors that seemed to pick up the faintest of resonances, and even in deep sleep surely would have been awoken by the mere sound of the freighter arriving.  
Part of her was glad he wasn’t there at the moment. Even if she had beaten him to it, he still would have somehow found himself belting out Commands and speaking to Malakhai while she stood and spoke with him, their words sounding entirely different but, in conclusion, meaning the same, converging together in the end. He gave off a larger impression than she did in these situations, even though she found that she could handle herself well once everything was under her own control.   
As she dictated to the crewmen and the Commander, Ventress found that her eyes were moving all over the terrain, expecting the tall, sinister figure that was Grievous to be standing there, his body reflecting in the moonglow. It wasn’t really like she did or didn’t want him to be there, but instead expected to see, or feel, his presence in this joint-operation. There was no indication that he was there, let alone existed in the same area she was in.  
He wasn’t here. She knew it.  
But she wanted to doubt her intuition. She walked up to Commander Malakhai as he set down a box labelled FRAGILE - HANDLE WITH CAUTION and dismissed herself briefly, before she left behind the Geonosian camp, the cluster of immense ships, the gargantuan edifice that was the Techno Droid Union factory, and went back out into the desert. She saw that the General’s resting quarters were located on the opposite side of the encampment, and strode her way over there as soon as she felt nobody was paying any consideration to her doings. The ochre-brown cloak she had thrown over herself hid her pale skin, making her blend in more naturally the farther away she got.   
She approached his tent and stood outside it tentatively, keeping herself at a far enough distance just in case he happened to burst out just as she approached, yet she also couldn’t hear anything from within. Ventress stood right out front.  
“General?”  
No answer. The lantern inside wasn’t lit.  
“It’s Commander Ventress.”  
Nothing.  
“The ship Gunray assigned is here!” She raised her voice.  
Still nothing.  
She sighed, and began undoing the straps outside his tent. They had not been touched since it had been first set up. He obviously wasn’t here, so why was she even trying?  
She flew open the flaps and poked her head inside. His cot still lay beside the bedframe, assorted blankets sat folded and untouched in the corner. The desk displayed nothing on top. There was no indication at all that a person had been here, let alone a Supreme Commander.  
Leaving the scene behind, she felt a small ringing in her ears, a feeling she had not experienced ever since she first alliance herself to Dooku. Maybe it was because she was cold, but she was also becoming immensely mystified and discouraged. She could see the activity occurring in the distance as she got closer and saw Wat Tambor deeply conversing with Commander Malakhai, but still no looming silver body.  
She didn’t even need to look around the area to know that he was gone. Fear began to pile inside her stomach, and by instinct, began thinking of the worst case scenarios.   
He abandoned us…he was just a ploy…he had no interest in this war…just another liar…why would he sound so convincing though…he was insecure and wasn’t meant for war—yes he was! It’s what he was created for! Damn it girl, why are you thinking that! That’s horrible…he’s gone. He’s gone.   
Her mind swirled and oscillated with thoughts, coming and going in small, uneven bursts. Some of it didn’t make sense to her.  
She rushed back to her own tent and retrieved her holocomm. Tying the opening of her tent securely behind her, she sent a videocall to the General and waited from him impatiently to pick up, seating herself on the chair in front of her desk, but only on the edge of her seat. If she moved an inch farther, she would be deposited in an uneven heap on the ground.  
A blue form of the General soon flickered, but only from the neck-up. He was sitting on a very well-padded seat. She could tell.  
“Greetings Commander,” he stated a little too nonchalantly.   
Ventress stared at him dead-on, even though his eyes were averted off the screen. He was hyper focused on…something.  
“General, where are you?” she asked, each word coming off more perplexed than the previous, raising a pitch with each one.  
The General cursed briefly under his breath, his form flickered in little waves of static and blurs before he formed again.   
“I’m piloting the shuttle we took to Hypori,” his voice crackled in the bad transmission. “It-i-i-it-it is undergoing some c-c-c-critical damage.”  
“Why are you piloting the shuttle?” her voice raised, but she still kept down to a whisper, but hardly. “Are you being attacked!?”  
“Y-ou-ou could say th-th-that.”  
Ventress’ breath hilted in place. “Are you trying to kill yourself? General! Where are you? What’s going on?”  
Grievous cursed again before turning to look at her on the screen.  
“I’m heading back to Geonosis to rescue Lushros Dofine. He’s been discovered, and it’s not looking good. At all.”


	8. BloodEarth

Author note: After nearly 45k words, being on its 8th chapter, and having been on Fanfiction.net and A03 for just a little over a year…I’m finally treating y’all to some Grievous action. Yep, finally. There’ll be plenty more in the future, trust me! Ventress as well. I also hope the previous chapter wasn’t boring. It took me three months to fully revise and get it right.   
I also just wanted to give a big warm thank you to all my followers and the reviews you guys have left. I neglected this story for far too long, and I appreciate that you guys stuck around and remained patient with me. Your dedication and warm comments have made me inspired to write and edit like hell in these challenging times.  
Thank you all very much.  
Chapter 8~Blood Earth  
The Commander’s blue form flickered before him, and even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, he could feel her eyes gazing at him penetratingly through the screen.  
“You’re kidding me.”  
“I’m not,” he responded blandly, hiding the tremble from within. The walls of his shuttle shook violently around him, his fingers grasped tightly on the shuttle’s steering cage. “Does it look like I’m joking?”  
“Wh—why are you doing this?” She was absolutely stymied.  
The shuttle rocked. “It was an emergency summoning by Dooku. He sent me a holo-message just as nightfall was hitting. I had to leave right away.”  
He knew she was waiting for him to explain in more detail, but he instead focused on his current situation: maneuvering away from the immense Republican ships that had begun to blockade the circumference of Geonosis. He had been detected, and was being pursued by a small group of X-wing fighter jets. They weren’t shooting, but he didn’t see what was stopping them.  
Maybe they didn’t see him? Blast it! Of course they do!   
“Well I—do you need me to send reinforcements?”  
“No!” he cried back, the rattling resonating within his aural sensors. “You’d be going against the orders of Dooku AND the encampment will be discovered in a heartbeat!”  
The Commander’s face slowly went from puzzlement to aggravated enmity. “Let me ask you something, General. Do you plan on making it through this mission alive?”  
Her voice was still. Too still.   
He looked down at her, staring into her eyes.  
“Why are you asking me such a question?”  
She blinked. “Answer mine, first.”  
The General sighed unconventionally. “Yes, I do. Of course I do!”  
“Do you plan on coming back to Hypori?”  
“Of course.”  
“And do you think that maybe the Republican fleet that currently on your tail knows where you came in from, and where you’ll be returning if you can make it through?”   
Grievous felt his heart freeze in its place, but this wasn’t the time for him to be pondering over the situations of the future…because from what it looked like at the moment, there was a pretty good chance there was no future for him. He also knew her question contained multiple sub-texts and quandaries—and she, herself was just as worried as he was.   
“So, would it just be best if I died?” he joshed, but his voice lacked tone or bite. He was sure he sounded more concerned than anything, and the rattling and shaking occurring around him wasn’t helping the matter.  
Ventress shook her head. “Not really. If you died, then I’d be stuck alone dealing with Dooku and the others.”  
“A minor inconvenience, then?”  
“To put it lightly,” she said. “But in all seriousness General, what are we going to do if you make it back to Hypori with this Captain?”  
The General was jolted unexpectantly forward, his abdomen slamming against the steering axel. He had, without realizing it, accelerated the shuttle just as a plane flew right in front of him, diving fiercely below it. He repressed a sharp cry of pain as he sat himself upward to face the Commander, who was looking back at him now with surprise.  
“This...this is something I’m going to have to discuss later on with you…when I return,” he said quietly, his bony fingers shaking against the gage.   
“What’s the status on Captain Dofine?” the Commander asked, changing the subject to business.   
Grievous shook his head, running his hand over the slight dent on his middle. “Last I heard, the Republic discovered the coordinates of his battleship and are advancing toward him as we speak. The Captain detected incoming hostiles on his radar and sent a message to his cousin for aid. I have heard nothing from the Captain directly, yet. He could be dead for all we know.”  
“I guess you’ll find out,” she said, smiling in an unreadable manner. She crossed her arms over her breasts. “Did you bring any droids with you?”  
“No.”  
The smile completely disappeared. He heard her mumble “Oh my gods” before steadily sighing.  
“Do you bring droids or reinforcements when you go on an assassination mission?” He asked her, goaded by her mumbling.  
She laughed. “No, but I’ve never found myself in a situation where I need to rescue a person whose being pursued by a plethora of Clone armies on a war-torn planet that’s currently being occupied by Republican forces. It’s a safety precaution, not an undermining of your power.”  
The scarlet redness of Geonosis was quickly filling up the pilot window, contrasting sharply with the onyx black of the universe. Grievous squinted, his head already beginning to hurt as he felt a creeping irritation in his eyes.   
“I’ll be fine,” he stated without thinking beforehand. The shuttle’s computer showed that he was nailing the coordinates where Captain Dofine’s Lucrehulk ship was located, much to his relief.   
He saw her from the corner of his eye merely shaking her head but remained silent. Her arms fell to her sides and she interlaced her fingers together in a cool, conducted manner.  
“I wish you the best of luck, General,” she bid serenely.   
Grievous nodded, and hoped she understood the indication for her to leave. She did, cutting the communication and soon dissolving away, leaving him now completely alone in his mission. A sharp bang had him fidgeting uncomfortably in his seat, before he calmed himself down and gradually accelerated the shuttle downward. The X-wing jets were still buzzing around him like drone bees preparing to kill their queen, which also personally served as a grim reminder of how the Geonosians most likely had to break their chains away from the tyranny of the Republic.   
Pushing Hypori and its new insectoid inhabitants out of his mind, he leaned back against his seat and put the shuttle into hyperdrive, sending him into a jolt before the ship was sent flying into Geonosis’ thermosphere, carefully maneuvering through the laser fires of the jets that barely skimmed the exterior. Grievous ignored the throbbing in his cerebral cortex as he continued his hasty descent onto the planet, continuing at a speed that was much too fast for such a small, weaponless ship to take. He had to lock his fingers on the gage to keep himself from being thrown brutally out of his seat in a disproportionate heap on the ground, bumping and vaulting in different directions as he penetrated the world’s atmosphere. As the rusty terrain became clear in his vision, a beam of plasma shot from the X-wing that decided to pursue him this far down in it, colliding with the back of the shuttle.   
A loud blast resounded through his aural sensors, followed quickly by a loud, resounded ringing and sending a ferocious tremor through the small space of the ship. The General was lodged forth from the pilot’s chair and crashed head-on into the glass, severely breaking it. His whole body trembled violently, his vision faded and blurry. A ghastly smell of charred metal and burnt hydraulics permeated what little was left of his olfactory senses, as well as the ever-pervasive feeling of falling, falling, falling into an abyss with no control and those last fleeting seconds feeling like hours…  
No. Not now. Not again!  
The sands of Geonosis were getting ever-so close to him now. Mustering up all his strength, he threw himself away from the now-useless instrumentation panel and onto the ground, digging his taloned fingers into the steel floor, fervently pressing his upper body against it to keep him from scooting forward and landing into the glass. The back of the shuttle was completely mangled, twisted, and currently burning. Stands of melted alloy began to goop onto the floor and dribble slowly downward, gradually inching toward the cockpit and sizzling along the ground.  
The heat and foul odors being emit was already too much for him to bear. Kicking himself forward, he pressed his feet against the pilot chair for stabilization. Cautiously moving one clutched hand away from the steel earth, he reached down toward the belt tightly secured around his waist and pulled his lightsaber gradually away from its protective casings. Keeping his eyes warily steady on the copious amounts of dripping metal coming towards him, he fingered for the button, and a long, green blade broiled forth, illuminating the cabin with its jade glow.   
Holding it cautiously away from his body, he pulled his other hand securely over the lightsaber’s handle and flipped himself over onto his back. Squeezing the back of the pilot’s chair with his toes, he arched his mid-section away from the shuttle’s quivering wall, and without preamble, thrust the lightsaber through the flimsy material.   
Blocking out the molten alloy smell, he gripped the handle with both hands and began to slice a circular opening through the metallic barrier. A plume of sparks fell down beside him as he spliced the blade through the molten, now orange-tinted perimeters of his incisions. He kept himself hyper-focused on his work, holding in his breath as his heart steadily beat within his quivering breast.   
When he completed a full, rather uneven circle highlighted by its auburn heat, Grievous raised one leg slowly up from the pilot chair and ferociously kicked at the center, sending the cut metal flying completely out and into the desert of Geonosis. A fierce wind blew within the cabin, the uncontrolled speed of the shuttle only gaining in momentum with each passing second. The General hesitantly studied the terrain. This was his only chance, and the dangers within the shuttle only seemed more pervasive with every given moment.   
Turning himself away from the scorching metal that trailed behind him, he dragged his body toward the opening, balling his legs underneath his torso. Squinting away the desert sand that flew in, he flung his cape behind him, and leaped ceremonially from the ship.  
His arms and legs outstretched as he fell swiftly to the desert bottom, the feeling of warmth beating upon the earth and his own body spread a lot more pleasantly than the sweltering hotness that developed within the shuttle’s cabin. Pushing the button on his saber so that the blade once again disappeared, he hesitantly closed his eyes and prepare for a sharp impact, which came much more quickly than he anticipated. He landed abruptly and toppled down a steep hill of coarse, sandy mineral. No matter how hard he tried to wrangle his digits in to stop himself from moving, it was only proven futile from the sand’s loose compactness and he merely continued to fall down the slope at a great speed until he landed chaotically on the flat land below.   
Grievous’ heart pulsated along with the ringing that wouldn’t stop. His proprioceptive sensors were currently jumbled in many distinct parts of his body, bringing in phantom pains and aches that previously merely lingered in what was left of his organics.   
The General lay there silently. The X-wing had obviously flown off, probably thinking that his body was now currently being crisped up inside a completely destroyed shuttle in the middle of a desert planet that was being devastated from the inside out.  
Being burned alive. Wrecked transport. Desert planet.   
Grievous cursed and smacked himself for letting his mind wander. He couldn’t think about that again. Not now. He attempted to distract his mind, with something as trivial as…his robe. His cloak, during this whole ordeal, had managed to stay tied firmly around his collar, yet was now filthy and torn. Inspecting it carefully, he discovered flimsy strands of liquid alloy had hardened and were trailing vulgarly near the bottom of his cape. He twisted a strand feebly around his finger to inspect its viscosity and simply sighed, letting his now damaged cape fall unevenly around his ankles.  
Cautiously regarding his surroundings, he carefully stood up and rose to his natural height, brushing the sand out from between his joints. A vast red desert terrain lay sprawling in his wake, smooth as glass yet rippling with geological splendor. Layers of vermillion and ochre pillared rock built upon itself continuously in grand formations, twisting upward into imposing, pointed spires, uniting with the darkening sky. The landscape remained undisturbed, tranquil and intimidating in the nocturne.   
The General looked around at the nature around him, transfixed by its solemn landscape. It was swathed in silence, grim and foreboding, until it was so rapidly disturbed. He could hear it all in the distance, far, far away yet loud and resounding. Gunfire echoing from beyond. It came in uneven bursts, and was nowhere near him from what he could determine.  
Grievous sighed. This is what I came here for, he thought wistfully, running his fingers smoothly on his lightsaber belt. Another round of shots fired, followed by an echoed shout. The General tensed, but didn’t hesitate to move toward the source. He sprinted quickly, barely making a sound or leaving a mark as her traversed the vast terrain. The sun beat upon him, but the warmth he had felt earlier than beginning to fade away, replaced with a near-night coolness. He could see fine in the dark, deliberately missing over every bump, crack, or rock that lay in his path as he plowed on.  
The gunshots came once again, much louder than before. He had no idea where he truly was, but from the navigation inside his now obliterated shuttle had shown, he had to be very close to Captain Dofine’s battleship. At least that was a convenience. He kept his ground low as he continued on, keeping himself absolutely silent as he did so.   
Instinctually, he began to fumble around for his lightsaber, before his mind kicked in and pondered over the idea. He still had to keep himself subtle, and pulling out a weapon such as a lightsaber so soon was only asking for trouble, especially since he was so close to both a warzone and a Separatist ship.   
Watchfully, he uncurled his fingers from the handle and pushed it daintily back into its secure pouch. No. Not yet.   
A group of soldiers in the distance screamed.  
He didn’t have to walk on for much longer before he saw a flotillin of Republican airships docked awkwardly in a shallow canyon, mostly small yet in their great numbers their size made no matter. They had to be the ships the Clones had arrived in, but it was still a surprise to the General just how many of them there were. He surmised that each ship could hold hundreds of soldiers, and since there were hundreds to thousands of ships…  
Grievous wasted no time in standing around, carefully hiding himself among the spiraling edifices of the Earth, peering down to see many clones engaged in combat with squadron’s of B1’s and B2’s, but he didn’t stick around to see the results. One doesn’t have to see results if you can clearly hear them, the General thought pensively, smelling the burnt metal and blood that rose through the air and mingled together in an unearthly unification. He stayed outside the perimeters of the canyon opening, maneuvering his way behind the natural geology before he was on the other side, where he began to run.  
The General’s heart pumped furiously as he ran, faster than he had ever ran in his life. He ignored the frantic throbbing as he pulled his cape along his sides, continuing to the jutted rock formation straight-shot in front of him, immense pillars binding together in wax-like foundations. Grievous’ heart skipped a beat when he saw it: there, within the pillars, located securely within the outcrop near a deep, opalescent riverbed was Dofine’s Lucrehulk, sitting there like a lone grave in a forgotten cemetery.   
Grievous made his way over, looking around for no unexpected attacks from the other side. It seemed odd that this enormous Separatist battleship was out here in the middle of the desert, seemingly unscathed. The message he got from Dooku was that the Captain had been discovered, but there were no signs that the area had been remotely touched. Strange, but there was a possibility that the Count had been wrong…or that Dofine was being held hostage.  
As he got closer, he saw three tall figures patrolling the ship’s perimeter, holding some kind of rifle upright toward the sky. Grievous squinted and thought that he was seeing Clones, but upon closer inspection, he saw that they were a trio of Neimoidian gunners, most likely sent out by the Captain to report back if they saw even the faintest glimpse of a Republican. Feeling somewhat relieved, he strode over to the ship, but was suddenly held at gunpoint by one of the Neimoidian’s.   
“Freeze…don’t move!” the gunner warned maladroitly, gaining the attention of the other two Neimoidians. “Drop your weapons t’is instant!”  
The General casually rested his arms against his sides.  
“Hands up! You’re disobeying authority!”  
Grieovus narrowed his eyes. “I believe the correct term is ‘Greetings General Grievous. We were expecting you around this time’,” he retorted back.  
The Neimoidian’s cheeks began to turn a bright shade of green. He pulled his bottom lip under his teeth and stared at Grievous wide-eyed.   
“You—you are General Grievous?”  
The General sighed, already exasperated. “Who else do I look like?”  
The gunner shook his head, letting the arm holding his pistol drop down to his side. The other two Neimoidians stared at him in both surprise and awe, forgetting to snicker at their comrade’s obstinate awkwardness.   
“Well excuse me sir,” the Neimoidian said apologetically. “We had no idea you were a clanker.”  
One of the mercenaries standing behind him gasped softly, not hiding the shock in his face. The General stared penetratingly down at the gunner, who was still looking back at him both sheepishly and uncomfortably.   
“What did you…?” the General rumbled. “Are you denoting to me the term you use for our battle droids?”  
The gunner realized his mistake, covering his mouth and shaking his head again.  
“Oh no no no, sir. I didn’t mean t’at. You’re a cyborg, yes—”  
“How observant of you.”  
“—and I was referring to your armies. Not…not you, sir. You must t’ink I’m so disrespectful. Oh, shame on me! Shame on me!”  
“Please ignore comrade’s insulting babblings,” one of the Neimoidians standing behind him finally spoke up. “We must be coming off to you as a bunch of ignorant fools.” He saluted, as did the silent Neimoidian next to him, who had been clearly expressive in his fellow soldier’s idiocy. “We were instructed by our Captiain, Lushros Dofine to guard t’is perimeter and keep a watch out for your arrival.” The Neimoidian looked calm and conducted, but something in his voice trembled with fear.  
Grievous nodded, glad to hear that Dofine was still very much alive. “Will you lead me to your Captain? I have some matters to conduct with him instantly.”  
“Yes, of course,” the mercenary said promptly, leading Grievous with respect inside the ship, which was enormous and dim on the inside, as well as cold. Very cold. The soldier took him down several long, humongous, meandering corridors lined to the brim with important technology and equipment.   
Many Neimoidian legionnaires silently roamed to and fro, looking either lost, distracted, or uptightly peevish. Several of them paid little attention to the General as they passed by, but he could feel their piercing stares once they were out of his overall sight, sometimes hiding in the little nooks and crevices of the hallway as he went by to avoid him. Many had begun to even whisper in their own tongue, believing that he had been far out of earshot to catch that they were talking about him. Grievous tried to ignore them as he was lead on, keeping his eyes dead ahead until they reached the main piloting chambers of the ship, where a tall, unorthodoxly dressed Neimoidian stood with his back toward them, seeming to look down at a series of technical equipment that lay on the navigation gages.  
“Captain Dofine,” the mercenary said momentarily. “General Grievous is here, behind me.”  
The other Neimoidian turned keenly around, regarding the General’s presence with a faint nod. He clasped his well-manicured fingers together in front of him, keeping his posture perfectly straight.  
“Very good, Kasii,” Dofine said quietly. “Very good, very good. You may be dismissed now.”  
The officer saluted before turning around and heading back out into the corridors, the doors behind him sliding automatically shut once he had completely departed, leaving Grievous and the Captain completely alone. The Captain merely stood in his place for a moment, regarding the General with interest before he approached the cyborg with his hand extended forward.   
“It is an honor to be working wit’ you, General,” the Captain said straightly, a faint smile carefully spreading onto his face. “Captain Lushros Dofine at your service an’ disposal.”  
Grievous looked down at the Captain’s hand, reaching out for a handshake. The General was so bewildered that a Neimoidian of all races was signifying a partnership with him, that her merely kept staring at Dofine’s hand in silence until the Captain spoke up.  
“Is t’is rude of me?”  
The General detected nothing caustic or demeaning in Dofine’s tone, but it was still too difficult to tell. Neimoidians were terribly good at being passive-aggressive.  
“Why do you say that?” he asked.  
Dofine pulled his hand subtly back. “Some cultures find certain t’ings rude or disrespectful t’at other cultures don’t t’ink twice about. Like for instance, Gen’Dai find it rude to make direct eye contact wit’ one another. I was wondering if I was doing something t’at insulted you.” The Neimoidian sounded strangely apologetic.  
Grievous shook his head. “It’s not that, it’s just…” he didn’t want to say it, but it had slipped out of him before he had realized it.  
“What is it?” the Captain inquired. The General spoke apprehensively.  
“It’s just that I’m not used to Neimoidian’s extending themselves out like that to me.”  
He had expected Dofine to be insulted, or even yet, curse at him like Gunray had mustered the courage to do. Instead, much to his surprise, the Neimoidian emit a throaty chuckle.  
“Shake my hand. I promise it won’t sting,” was all he responded with.  
Grievous reached out and grasped the warm hand, but hesitantly. Though this Neimoidian seemed much different than many others he had encountered, he still held doubts within him. He knew the Captain could detect this as well, by the unsure look he had on his face. They finished their handshake and the General began to discuss business.  
“Why are you still on Geonosis?” he inquired.  
The Captain sighed quietly. “Long story short, business negotiations I was involved in on t’is planet went downhill, as well as my squadrons of B1’s and some of my Neimoidian gunners. I was asked by Dooku to Command t’is ship to Geonosis, even though I was against it originally. The conflict stirring here was like a kettle ready ta’ burst. T’at’s why the others were able to leave earlier. I did not have t’at choice. I had to oversee my mercenaries and t’e remaining Battle droids we sent out, as well as make attunements for t’is ship.”  
“Is this ship damaged?” the General asked. From the Neimoidian’s calm tone, he would have expected a different answer than what he received instead.  
“Somewhat, yes,” the Captain admitted, “but nothing big enough t’at we cannot fix. We will surely be able to traverse far, still.”  
“It doesn’t look to be in bad shape.”  
“Like I said General, it’s nothing big ta’ worry about.”  
“Last I heard from Dooku, he said your crew had been discovered.”  
The Neimoidian nodded, remaining stone-faced. “We have, t’at doesn’t mean they’re going to attack us right off t’e bat. We caught t’ere ships on our radar, so I’m surmising t’at they’ve caught us on theirs, too.”  
“I don’t see what’s stopping them from ambushing us.”  
“T’ree things General, and t’at’s Battle droids, running out of resources, an’ t’e death of thousands of Clones all rolled into one. Too much distracting t’em right now.”   
Grievous nodded, but didn’t feel satisfied with Dofine’s answer. He was just surprised and relieved that Dofine and his crew had manager to stay alive on this worn-torn planet for this many days and nights.   
“Have you been attacked at all?” he queried, beginning to wonder if coming to Dofine’s aide had been pointless.   
The Captain thought silently for a moment, before responding collectively. “Yes, but not here.”  
“What do you mean by that?” he peered.  
“Well General,” Dofine orated nonchalantly, “me an’ several of my men were wandering aroun’ the area, since we discovered t’at t’ere was an abandonded Geonsian base camp near us, in t’at canyon you passed by. I had one of my officers guard t’e ship while I was away. We t’ought we could maybe find some firearms, or ammunition, or at t’e very least some food. As we peered around t’e area we heard Clones stalking behind us.”  
“A lot?”  
“A dozen or so.”  
“Then what happened?”  
“Well, t’e told us to freeze in place. T’ey recognized our race, an’ I knew t’ey were going to arrest us. Obviously, I didn’t comply. You see, Clones t’ink kind of alike, and start shooting where t’eir other comrades start shooting, even if it’s not correct—like our droids, in some way.” He mused.  
“Are you saying you were able to shoot them all?”  
The Captain pointed to a good-sized black firearm that lay against the wall, with the safety turned on.  
“T’at thing is a beauty, General. I’ve had it in my possession for years, an’ so far it had not failed me. I made sure my men were to receive similar bearings”  
“I’m assuming you suffered some casualties.”  
“A broken arm for one, maybe.”  
Grievous squinted. “No.”  
Dofine nodded. “Yes, General. We got t’em all an’ ran. T’ere was so much distraction down below nobody pursued us.”  
“I don’t believe you didn’t lose any men that time.”  
“It’s t’e truth General,” Dofine spoke coolly. “T’ese men, t’ey are trained well. I lost some earlier on t’ough when some of my officers tried wandering a few miles away for rations inside t’e abandonded drone hives in t’ose rock spires.”  
“When did this all occur?” Grievous inquired, enacting Dofine’s state of affairs in his mind. It made no sense. Neimoidian’s weren’t known to be fearsome or stoic, let alone courageous in a situation like that. They were very good liars, however. He decided to play along, to see just how far Dofine would go with it.  
“Just yesterday, General.”  
“Where did it occur?”  
“I told you General,” he said, “in a cave in t’e area of t’e canyon.”  
Grievous nodded. “Why didn’t you just stay behind in the enormity of your ship and send your men out, instead?”  
“Because t’at was the first time in days I wandered outside t’e perimeter of this god-forsaken ship,” the Captain spoke with heat in his voice, recalling the memory. “I also didn’t t’ink t’ey could do it without me.”  
“Are you the brains behind the operation?”  
“Every Captain, General, Commander, whatever t’e moniker t’ey’re given, is a leader of t’eir people in war, no matter the situation. I am not here to enable them, but to have t’em learn and know what t’ey’re fighting for. I am an experienced man, and t’ey need to me to give t’em t’e instruction, before t’ey can do it t’emselves, completely independently.”  
Grievous looked at Dofine, somewhat surprised by the Captain’s words. Dofine remained quite still-faced.  
“An’ now, well, we’ll see what happens,” the Captain gravelly concluded.   
The cabin had become rather dark, the only source of light being red filtering in from the window like a muslin curtain, reflecting off the murky colors of the dim Lucrehulk. Grievous felt a stinging sensation in his retina, slowly accumulating in his optic nerves. He felt his left eye begin to twitch, and he hoped the Captain wasn’t noticing his subtle shakiness. Dofine seemed to simply look on, his own ruby-colored eyes glittered uncertainly in the garnet light.   
“’T’is planet is war-torn,” Dofine said lucidly, turning to look back at the vermillion sands. “It is at t’is point beyond saving.” He sat down and folded his hands onto his lap, still keeping his gaze directed away. “General, where are we going after t’is?”  
Dofine seemed to automatically resort to believing they would make it out alive. The General surmised they would, yet he had expected the Neimoidian to panic, instead. Grievous locked his gaze on Captain’s shiny black blaster rifle.  
“The planet of Hypori, north. Near the droid factory.”  
“Hypori.”  
The Captain’s tone remained undeterred, his voice not indicating if he was making a statement or asking it as a question. Wanting to remain professional, Grievous took the ambiguous response as both.  
“We have a settlement there. It’s a camp for the Geonosian’s who ventured with us to employ under Tambor.”  
Dofine turned back to look at Grievous, his eyes wide with perplexity. “You managed to establish a Geonosian outpost on Hypori?”  
“Yes.”  
Dofine’s expression’s went to softly smiling before turning stone cold in an instant.  
“I think I already know what your concerns are,” Grievous spoke, taking side-glances at the Captain to not appear uncouth. The pinching feeling in his retina still hadn’t receded.   
“T’e Republican blockade…”  
“Now know we’re on Hypori because Nute sent a freighter to the planet, under Dooku’s command,” Grievous finished.  
The quiet tapping of the Captain’s foot stopped. Grievous passed him another side-glance. The Neimoidian had closed his eyes, and was rubbing his forehead with his temple whilst murmuring quietly to himself in his native tongue, too quietly for Grievous to pick up, though he heard Nute’s name uttered after some very unappealing sounding words. After a moment he remained silent, then sighed a steady sigh before opening his eyes and looked up at the General. He rose back to his postural stance.  
“T’ey will certainly know now, as t’is ship will be on t’ey’re radar an’ t’ey’ll figure out where it’s going. I t’ink maybe we should t’ink about moving the settlement somewhere else on t’at planet.”  
Grievous pondered over the situation before a series of beeps emitted from the ship’s large navigational computer. Dofine excused himself briefly and went over toward the source of the sound. Tapping a few control prompts onto the screen, a large blue projection mapping the whole Lucrehulk beamed from the control panel. The Captain quickly scanned the map, but it didn’t take him long to see what the issue was: a series of red dots clustered tightly together in the far southwestern corner inside one of the cargo bays.   
Dofine kept his eyes on the dots, watching them precariously. Most of them remained flashing in their area, then some began to move further out, whilst some began to disappear. Grievous planted himself alongside the Captain.  
“What does this mean?” the General asked, knowing full-well the answer.  
The Captain regarded the cluster of dots for a moment more before nodding his affirmation and a response. “Infiltrators.”  
Suddenly the whirring of the automatic doors of the cabin opened, followed by hurried footsteps. Surprised, the General looked behind him. A small, slender officer dawned in a mechanic’s apparel rushed into the space, gripping a rifle fervently in his stained fingers. Sweat beaded and poured down the Neimoidian’s face, the fabric under his arms stained with perspiration. He stopped to catch his breath, his eyes remaining as wide as freshly cut beryl’s.   
He regarded Grievous with wide, frightened eyes for a moment before turning his attention to the Captain.  
“Captain Dofine! T’ere are Clone armadas making our way to t’e ship from the Western side! T’ere infiltrating from t’e cargo bay!”  
“Can you surmise how many?” the Captain inquired, keeping his voice at bay, though his eyes, too became large and wide with concern.   
“Tens! No, hundreds! Hundreds of them! So many!”  
“Did you see any of them?” Grievous demanded. The young man turned a quivering stare toward the General, looking Grievous up and down from head to toe.  
“Who are you?”  
“Don’t be impertinent and ignore my question. Answer me!” he ordered, his voice gradually raising.   
“Grievous—” Dofine butted in, but neither the General or the officer heard him.  
“Yes, a lot of us saw t’em!” the officer said agitatedly. “We saw t’em approaching the ship, now t’ey’re intruding! I’m sure t’ey’ve shot fellow men as we speak!”  
The General was about to respond, but Dofine cut himself in.  
“What’s your name, boy?” the Captain asked.  
“O-Officer Lunn Minai, at your service, Captain.”  
“Minai, I want you to round as much of your fellow Engineers as you can, t’en head over to t’e East docking bay.”  
“Y-yes, Captain.”  
“I want you to head over to finish up t’e repairs in t’e docking bay wit’ your fellow men. Make sure your weapons are ready and loaded. Some of t’em, if t’ey’re big in number, may try to sneak to t’e other side. T’ey will shoot you first thing, so make sure you get the glimpses of t’e whites of t’ey’re armor before t’ey even get a chance to see you.”  
The officer nodded his head, then Grievous spoke up once again.  
“There is absolutely no remorse involved in this, or empathy. They have slaughtered thousands of people already, so you cannot feel any compassion towards them when you get the chance to shoot one, because I warn you, they will not be feeling the same toward you. We want you to remain stoic and on your toes, so turn yourself around toward the door and go!”  
The officer fervently nodded, gave a hap-hazard salute before rushing out the door, into an eerily quiet hallway.  
“You needn’t to snap,” the Captain said.  
The General kept his eyes on the door, as if the adversary were to strike out at any given second. “I don’t want them to waste time. They can’t be questioning when we’re in this kind of situation.”  
“Understood, General,” the Captain acquiesced uncertainly, heading back near the control panel.  
Grievous wearily scanned the room, listening in for gunfire, yet still couldn’t pick up anything. The enormity of the ship made hearing the whole perimeter of it near impossible. He felt a strange pinching feeling come back again, but he knew, this time, that it was a bigger reason than the color red.  
“I am going to head over to the Western side of the ship,” Grievous said, this time putting his full thoughts into it. He heard manicured nails against metal stop in place right after his proposal.  
“What? I was going to head over to t’e West side.”  
Grievous rested his arms placidly to his sides. “I think it would be better if I did it.”  
“Why? You don’t know how to navigate through t’is ship.”  
“I have been in a Lucrehulk before, like this one.”  
“You don’t have any qualms about doing t’at? About going down t’ere?”  
Grievous closed his eyes. “No,” he purred. “I think I may have a plan in store.”  
The Captain put down the pad he had grasped in his fingers and made his way over to the General’s side. He opened his eyes again. “Oh? Let’s hear t’em.”  
Gently, Grievous pulled back the robe away from his body to reveal the lightsabers he possessed in his belt. As he did so, he could feel the Captain quickly running his gaze on his metalloid physiology in a curious manner. Dofine must have realized he had averted eyes away briefly, because he soon conducted himself properly once again.  
“I have been trained in the lightsaber arts from Dooku for years now,” the General spoke placidly. “The training involves more than dueling with a lightsaber. As I am not Force-sensitive, I have had to result in other tactics to seize upon the adversary. I feel that the training I have received, and my previous experiences before this, are more than proficient. I believe I should head there to assist the mercenaries and pick off the Clones, while you and your men get this ship ready to leave.”  
Dofine nodded but looked incredulous.  
“Do you feel t’at a lightsaber is as proficient as a heavy-caliber blaster-rifle?” the Captain questioned.   
It sounded insulting, yet the General knew that Dofine was trying to think pragmatically.   
“If you’re fast and agile enough,” Grievous responded confidentially.   
Dofine looked down at Grievous’ lightsaber belt, silently pondering the matter. A loud blast pinged against one of the metal walls of the conjoining hallways, before disappearing as soon as it had erupted. Both men jumped in their place, fixing their eyes toward the doors.  
“We don’t have much time to stand around and ponder,” the Captain spoke abruptly, walking over to retrieve his firearm. “I put my trust in you. Head over to t’e West cargo bay immediately. If you see any of my men in t’e hallways on your way there, which I’m sure you will, tell t’em to head over to systems navigation so t’at Captain Dofine can give t’em orders.” He went over near the navigation panel and pulled a small object away from the piloting control board. The Captain came back over to the General and held the object out to Grievous.  
“A navigation pager,” Dofine said matter-of-factly. “We’ll be able to stay in contact that way. Don’t lose it.” Grievous regarded the small piece of technology aloofly before storing it away in a pocket within his belt.  
“I will be sending battle droids at your disposal once I can page them from the Eastern side. Now,” the Captain affirmed. “You must go.”  
Grievous responded in assertion before making his way out into the hallways.  
“Good luck, General,” the Captain bid before the doors closed behind Grievous’ back, leaving him alone in the eerily noiseless atmosphere. The area around the navigation room didn’t belong in a hallway, but was instead in a central chamber where the hallways surrounding him ended. He stood in the very center of this complex, making his current position vulnerable. He consulted a map of the ship, at least glad to possess a memory in these types of situation as near-photographic. If only it served its purpose well in other situations, he thought briefly. The whole thing was vast. Th General was in silent awe by the complicated nature of its hugeness, going this way and that way and branching over there…  
He heard a small thump and vigilantly made his way down the empty hallway to the right. Letting the map of the ship form completely in his mind before making rash decisions, he walked on carefully, keeping his back close to the wall and his unignited lightsabers near his chest, rubbing his thumb protectively to the button without applying pressure. From what was given on the map, he seemed to be heading toward what was the closest to being the center of the vessel. Putting himself in that susceptibility to danger would have frightened him all those years ago, but now, it came upon him as if he was simply being asked to run off some papers to the secretary. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he found himself pondering little over the situation of what could happen and instead focused on what is going to happen…and that was him knocking the heads off some Republicans and foreseeing that the ship launch itself successfully to Hypori.   
It didn’t take him to traverse far before he began to hear the chaos. There were screams, gunshots, foul smells seeping into the air. He quickened his pace, running into many mercenaries that were attempting to escape the disorder. Grievous stopped them and repeated Dofine’s instruction, which was often responded with a nod and a flee, or quirked brows and avoided eye contact. He didn’t appear to be well-received, but at least they were listening to him. He doubted any of these men were to go against the orders of the Captain. Most of these mercenaries appeared to be fleet engineers, as evidenced by their attire and their aloof reactions upon being ordered to repair the Lucrehulk’s apparatuses.   
As he continued down, he heard two soldiers speaking amongst each other after he had spoken with him. “Since when did t’e Captain start allowing droids to be t’e second in command?” one chided. “How very lowly of him. I know he’s desperate at t’is point, but goddamn.”   
Grievous stopped in place and turned to watch their backs as they turned sharply down the hallway. Both wearing blue uniforms with red belts and adobe-beige pants, the one making the comments wearing a jet-black scarf. He’d remember that for future reference.   
The smells only grew stronger the farther he went in, and once he got to the center, he was surprised to see that it was empty. The sounds and scents originated from an antechamber just right near him. Grievous was about to make his way in until he heard footsteps coming sharply in his direction. All simultaneously. Following his reflexes, he leapt to an indentation above the foyer entranceway, climbing higher and higher until he was clinging to a series of ventilation pipes on the ceiling, throwing his legs over so that he was splayed abdomen-down on the rods.   
He held his breath still as he watched it all play out, second by second. A squadron of what he counted to be two dozen Clone Troopers marching from the foyer into the central sentinel, not stopping until a series of shouts rung out from behind them. They turned and were faced by six Confederate officers. The mercenaries were greatly outnumbered, and Grievous could see in their eyes they realized their fate was sealed. Though they shot down two Clones, the Republican soldiers hailed their ammo onto the Neimoidian’ s, finishing their duel in just a matter of five seconds, give or take. The officers fell unmoving in their own pools of acidic blood that splattered onto the floor and on the walls behind them. The General looked at their bodies before turning his attention back to the Clones, who made their ways to a locked-off room and quickly inputted a code, before they successfully entered, the door shutting automatically behind them.e  
Grievous recalled the room they had entered from the map and his eyes grew wide in realization. Computational and Integrated Systems! They’re going to attempt to disable the ship’s system software! Realizing their time was limited greatly, he began to wrangle himself down from the ceiling, digging his talons into the idents of the wall until he heard more footsteps approaching the central chamber once again. He remained still and saw that more Clones had arrived, this time approximating 30 to 34. The white armor plates completely shielding their bodies were shimmering with green and red blood, with little bits of ganglia clinging to it. Some had black scorches on their breastplates, but mostly appeared to be unharmed.   
If he listened closely enough, he could hear a heartbeat…all their heartbeats. He picked it up and listened for their fear. Some were better at masking it than others, but it was there. He could feel it. They stood in place, on some kind of guard, surveying the room as they remained in position. Some however, were beginning to migrate around the huge area, some even began to approach the radius underneath where he was occupying.   
Grievous could feel his own heartbeat begin to build up. There were many of them, all armed and mostly unscathed. He had fought in wars all his life, but not at a level this heavy in number and quick in attacking with advanced weaponry. A dread began to pervade him as he clung to the wall, obscuring himself in shaded darkness as the Clones approached him closer, blissfully unaware of his presence. His fingers gripped deeper into the walls of the craft as they simply explored, his cape beginning to rustle in a crisp air that blew through the ship.  
Then when he looked down and they were right below him, surveying the location with a reserved disposition, his mind shifted. The predisposed thoughts and fears flew away from him, replaced with a slowly bubbling anger and eagerness for combat. Something within his brain began to pinch him, seeming to squeeze harder and harder until what was left of his precautions completely abandoned him and replaced it with a slowly-accumulating fury. He was ravenous. Ravenous for a fight. For them all to be dead by his own blades.   
The Count was standing next to him as he ravaged through a squadron of B1 battle droids, his own vehemence slowly unleashing itself like a rolling storm. The B1’s unleashed mechanical groans and shrieks as he sliced them to pieces from all different directions. Dooku merely watched, nodding his head every now and then, looking nonchalant about what was occurring. Once Grievous had sliced the head off the last standing droid, watching as it fell clunkily over with a topple, the Count unhesitatingly approached him.  
“I feel a fury bottled within you, General,” Dooku said, looking at him with tired eyes. “It seems to be greatly assisting you in your combat.”  
He had no idea how to respond to the Count, who now began to show a faint crooked smile upon his impassive face. The Count knelt and picked up the decapitated head of a B1, never taking his eyes off him.   
“I say let’s continue with it.”  
Glancing briefly beneath him, and with a shallow breath, he swiftly removed his fingers from the wall and fell many feet onto the ground, crushing the two Clones investigating his perimeter underneath his feet.   
One emit a broken scream as the sounds of metal hitting bone cracked loudly through his aural sensors. The other lay still and broken, soft like jelly. Blood began to quickly accumulate beneath both Clones, aerating between the General’s toes. Grievous quickly lifted up his foot and stamped all his weight furiously onto the still thrashing Clone, feeling his toes squish through mushed bones and torn viscera as the Republican soldier gave one last gurgle and soon lay as limp as his comrade.   
The room fell into an unabashed silence, before a shout erupted from the group.  
He merely stared into them, his golden reptilian eyes blazing with brazen ferocity. The Clone Commander of the squad took a sharp step back and aimed his gun at the General.  
“Droid!” he yelled abruptly, then began to fire.   
What seemed to happen next all came naturally to him, so suddenly, so physical, so perfect.  
He left the moment the ammo had left its cartridge, leaping high into the air and twisting himself around so that he was back on his feet. In the instant his feet left the ground, he seized the lightsabers from his belt and ignited them in a whirl.  
The Clones seemed to regard him in stillness for that one moment, pondering over the situations that just occurred, then hailed a torrent of ammunition upon him. He swung his lightsabers violently around him, deflecting their blasts and guiding his body away from the constant outpourings. Moving his arms in accordance to his gesticulations, he slowly made his way over to the Clones, who had now scattered in many directions of the room in an attempt to target an area he wasn’t aware of protecting. He could see them dart out the corner of his eye, placing themselves behind him where his eyes couldn’t perceive. Grievous chuckled inwardly at their attempts of diversion. This was going to be entertaining.   
Keeping himself alert, he leaped once again into the air and brought both his lightsabers down upon two unlucky Clones who just happened to be in his eye of target. The green and blue blades penetrated through their armor like hot butter, coming out through their back. Their soft gasps were stifled by the raucous blaster-fire that remain contained in their room. Grievous continued to deflect as he threw the soldier’s bodies off the blades, landing dead on the floor. He surged forward and ripped a clawed foot clear through the armor of a Trooper, crushing into his chest and ribs. The Clone began to cough violently as the General swung his leg around and knocked the soldier onto the floor, breaking his neck and smashing into the helmet of the comrade next to him. Even amongst the constant gunfire, he could hear the sickening snap of their bones as they collided powerfully with the floor.   
Grievous dove partway up the wall, and all in one motion jumped right off and spliced right through the helmets of two Troopers who fired nearby. Before they could bring their reflexes to scream, he drew a blade back and impaled it thorough their torso’s, lightning quick. A rather brave Clone who had stood witnessing him during that pandemonium leapt violently forward, leaping off the ground in a complex, obviously much-practiced motion. Just as quick as Grievous was with his lightsabers, the Clone shot a blast toward the General’s abdomen, before diving swiftly between his legs and landed safely on the other side.   
Grievous maneuvered out of the way before the ammo could him, feeling its heat skid past his hip and land with a loud bang on the blackened floor. Before he could completely turn around to face the adversary, the Clone once again shot, this time cauterizing Grievous on the back of his foot. The General fell hard on his side, still swinging his green lightsaber at the slowly-dwindling ambush.   
“He’s down! Get him, men!”  
Grievous saw the Clone in the corner of his eye loading another cartridge into his blaster. Locking a venomous gaze onto the Trooper, he ferociously swung his legs out beneath the Clone’s feet, knocking him down with a thud. The Clone lay there almost dazed, and before he could think again about what was to happen, the General was upon him, digging his taloned feet into the Trooper’s breastplate.   
The Trooper emit a loud croak before attempting to thrash his way out of the General’s locked grasp on him. Grievous kept to his side for a moment, before rolling onto his back and lifting his legs in the air, the Clone gasping and writhing in Grievous’ clutch. Shifting a bunch of weight onto his back, the General pulled his legs back, arched his spine against the ground, and surged forward. Flipping himself forward onto his feet, the Clone’s body smashed violently onto the ground, Grievous bringing down his full weight, crushing his chest cavity into fragments.   
Some of the Clones screamed. Other wretched. Most continued to shoot on command. Grievous regained his posture and settled back into the gist of the fight.   
He danced in a mad rhythm, his mechanical tendons rolling with each move, flexing against artificial nerves and muscle. Some of the Clones began to move precariously away, but they didn’t appear to resist. Grievous felt everything was coming in one large motion. His lightsabers, hands, fingers, feet, and legs were always smashing against a body, or deflecting laser shots that didn’t ever seem to come close to grazing him. He stabbed chests, beheaded bodies, crushed ribs, broke necks, tore, split, rip, disembowel, nothing seemed to scathe him. Blood and spilt insides splattered onto him like wallowing tides. Men kept coming, but they fell just as quickly as they had begun, until they altogether lay either dead at his feet, or had retreated from wherever they had come from.   
“Send reinforcements.”  
Grievous heard the abrupt voice and saw the Commander speaking through a holocomm, his body tense with anxiety that continued building up. The General didn’t hesitate for one moment to bound forth and slam the Clone Commander into the floor, knocking the wind out of his lungs and the helmet rolling onto the floor, falling into the collection of Neimoidian corpses and spattered gore.  
Grievous was on his knees, his hands pressed strongly onto the Commander’s chest, looking at his exposed face. An olive-skinned human male stared back at him, his silver-armored chest breathing steadily underneath he General’s slender fingers. Terrified brown eyes met tawny ophidian ones, and in an instant, the Commander’s face shifted from despairing to downright shock.   
“You’re not a…”  
Before he could finish his sentence, the General had stabbed him in the chest, feeling the blue lightsaber sink into the sinewy flesh. The Commander’s face remained in a shocked freeze-frame, before he gave one last intake of breath and lay still on the floor. To be sure he wasn’t fooling, the General slit his throat open and watched as dark blood pooled out of the dead man’s esophagus and bubbled from the corner of his lips. He remained there for a moment before standing up to examine the carnage around him.   
Almost fifty Clones lay sprawled around the perimeter. He hadn’t realized how many had been coming and going during his onslaught. He saw the blood, the bodies, the slaughter. An unholy stench was wafting through the air, fresh and disgusting. He looked upon himself and saw that he was covered in corporeal fluids, something that hadn’t touched him since…  
He was interrupted to the sound of an incoming call from Dofine’s pager. Grievous eagerly took it, still eyeing the bloody mess around him.  
“Greetings Captain Dofine,” he stated, taking side-glances at the now-quiet antechamber.   
“What’s the progress, General?” the Captain’s staticky voice inquired.  
Grievous picked a strain piece of pink tissue off his breast and flicked it onto a decapitated Clone’s leg. “In the central cavity of the ship, near the Computational and Integrated Systems security unit and antechamber labelled Foyer no. 11, we have six causalities on our side and ninety-five deceased Clones.”  
“When you mean casualties, do you mean organics, General?”  
“Yes,” Grievous avowed.  
The Captain went silent for a moment, and Grievous thought at first he had ended the call. “fifty-five dead Clones and only six causalities on our side,” he iterated in disbelief. “Are t’ese number skewed?”  
“I can make the approximation that I’m correct, Captain, but it’s rather difficult to count all the dead men with all the strewn body fragments.”  
“T’at’s not funny.”  
“I’m serious, Captain Dofine,” Grievous stated. “It’s a bloody mess down here.”  
“My gods, what t’a hell happened? Did you witness?”  
Grievous nodded, though the Captain could not see. “I witnessed, and I participated.”  
“Who assisted you?”  
“Nobody, Captain. I sent many men to you and a bunch are still clustered in the Southwest Cargo Bay.”  
Another long silence, this time proceeded with a sigh.  
“This isn’t humorous, General.”  
“I’m not lying to you, Captain. I didn’t realize how many there were until I finished off their Commander.”  
“How in t’e world did this all occur? One man against ninety Clones? I know you’re not made of flesh and blood but…” he faltered, then stopped himself. “On t’e map I’m seeing a series of dots in t’e Integrated Systems unit, speaking of which.”  
“I saw a squadron of Clones infiltrate it,” Grievous spoke, glad that the Captain was professional enough to avoid a personal conflict in their treacherous situation. “They manage to acquire a security code.”  
“How…?” the Captain began to ask, then realized there would be no answer to that. “All hands-on deck at t’is point. My men are fixing t’e engines, but t’ey won’t work if t’e software is corrupted or destroyed. I will be sending down some of my engineers at once. If only we had some Geonosians on t’is ship…” He sounded strangely calm. “My battle droids are one t’eir way, t’ough it may take t’em some time to reach you.”  
“Why are they conglomerated in one area?” Grievous pondered aloud, not even realizing it until Dofine responded.  
“T’ey are usually in the Eastern side, away from the organic troops. T’ey can be so frustrating…oh, how ill-prepared I was,” the Captain said vaguely.   
“Since you’re sending me to the Integrated Systems room, I’m going to proceed to the Southwest Cargo Bay. I’m not hearing much activity, but I’ve got a sense.”  
“T’is has all happened so fast, General. Most of my men still haven’t even made it here or t’ere yet.”  
“I can see,” Grievous said with an air of frustration.  
“My troops are getting down t’ere as fast as t’ey can. Be careful, General.”  
“Lushros, I have this sense,” Grievous suddenly forewarned, “and it’s not positive. I think your men should try to fix the engines as fast as they can and get them started. We cannot stay here for much longer.”  
“I, we are trying our best, General. I understand t’e concerns you have. I will notify you when we have made timely progress. I don’t t’ink it’ll take long at all.”  
“I hope you mean that,” Grievous expressed impatiently. “I need to go, Captain. Your competence on this mission has been more than satisfactory.”  
Dofine gave an ambiguous nervous cough/laugh before disconnecting. Grievous slid the device safety away and made his way into the hallway that lead to the Cargo bay from his current location. He drew his lightsabers up and debated whether to have them ignited, but he instead kept them clutched fervently in his hands as he continued his way down, until he came around the corner and heard commanding voices echoing about on the other side.  
Keeping himself as low a profile as a seven-foot bone-white cyborg was able to do, he pressed himself against the wall and entered what was the Southwest consignment bay of the ship, the place of infiltration for these Republicans. He was standing on a great mezzanine that overlooked the complex, yet from the height of it he was able to examine his environs while not being seen right off the bat.   
Below were many crates and other methods of storage that were stacked neatly away within lofty shelves inside the compound. Right near the hefty cargo were amassed Clones, all scattered around and seeming rather disturbed. Grievous saw many bodies of mercenaries and other Troopers on the floor, lying dead at Clone’s feet. He wondered if some of the crew had gone into hiding, for the many different hiding spots posed made that conjecture seem plausible, if one was aerobic or crafty enough.   
Fortunately, he was both. Slowly edging his way to the farthest end of the mezzanine, carefully regarding his surrounding, he prudently grasped at a large metal storage shelf that held hundreds of crates and hoisted himself onto it. He crouched behind a large box before a squadron of Troopers walked past his ledge.   
“I wonder why General Yunei is having us infiltrate the Eastern barracks,” one Clone protested to his fellow brothers.   
“Don’t you ever listen?” the Trooper next to him chided. “The General said the droid army is stationed in the East barracks. If we can dismantle them quickly enough, we should be able to pull apart this ship piece-by-piece.”  
“And what of the other mercenaries?”   
“Droids are more sundry in number. A few Neimoidians will be easier than hundreds of B1’s and Super’s.”  
The objecting Clone laughed anxiously, and their talk continued as they walked away from his earshot.   
Hurry up, droids!  
Grievous continued to crawl along the shelf, obscuring himself behind stacks of crates. His metal digits and talons clicked quietly against the steel ledges. He attempted to figure a way to go in for a good kill, his mind attempting to push him out in the open for the execution. Grievous had to force himself to stay in place to properly strategize what his next moves were going to be. With or without droids at his disposal, what was to occur next seemed to be circumstantial.   
As he began to strategize, he heard a strident voice talking within the external chatter of the Clones, crystalline and clear.   
Grievous’ thoughts came to a sharp halt at the sound.   
“I want you to infiltrate the Eastern bay and move on South from there,” the voice said. “This ship possesses many valuable resources that will indeed be useful in the future.” Then, he quickly proceeded it with “Their alliance to the newformed confederacy is a hostile crime.”  
The General slowly stood from his crouched stance and glanced over the side of the crate stack to determine the owner of the voice. Whoever was speaking sounded both very authoritative yet rather tranquil, like Captain Dofine’s.   
Standing there, a mere few hundred yards away from him, was a Jedi.   
Grievous stared fiercely. He should have known.  
The Jedi General appeared to be a young human male, with pale skin and a cropping of disheveled hair. His robes were tattered, brown, and coated with red sand. From his rather tousled appearance, Grievous surmised he had been on Geonosis for quite some time, and that it was roughing him up considerably. He could see the dark circles underneath the Jedi’s eyes and the look of disappointment that was beginning to infuse his pasted-on smile. He seemed to be maintaining his composure, still looking astute over his Clone underlings.   
“Roger, General Yunai,” a Clone affirmed before leading the group out of the cargo bay and to an exit right near where Grievous had entered, making it one of the last group of Clones to abandon the area. The General watched the Trooper’s stalk away before turning his full-on attention to the Jedi. General Yunai began looking cautiously around him, picking up on something the others were and had not.   
Grievous mustered a smirk beneath his mask. He seems to be sensing something ‘off’. Why don’t we go and help him out?  
The droid General, taking one last quick survey, stood his full height and walked to the edge of the shelf, where he squatted back on his knees and lowered himself quietly to the floor, landing ceremoniously on his feet, right behind the sensing Jedi. This was going to be fun.  
“I’m ready for my orders, General Yunai,” Grievous hissed assiduously.  
The Jedi quickly turned around with a stunned look on his face, which registered quickly to confusion upon glancing at the tall cyborg.  
“What are you?” the Jedi inquired.   
Grievous took a step forward. The Jedi took one back and brought his unignited weapon near him.   
“I believe the correct phrasing is ‘Who are you’,” Grievous purred.  
The Jedi was already scanning his body to see if he was armed. However, he almost had the entirety of his body cloaked, which registered as inconvenience on the Jedi’s face.  
“Fine then,” General Yunai said. “Who are you?”  
Grievous let his hands slip from his cloak. The Jedi quickly glanced down, seeing he was carrying no firearms.  
“You can call me Grievous.”  
General Yunai was now making eye contact. “Interesting name. What is your affiliation here?”  
“Excellent question, Jedi. As a matter of fact, though we weren’t expecting you so soon, I believe one of my occupations is to eliminate you from this ship.”  
The Jedi took another step back. “And how do you plan on executing that?”  
The General couldn’t hold himself back. In in one quick motion he shed the cape out of his way, yanking his lightsabers from his belt, and ignited them. The Jedi’s eye grew wide in perplexity. Grievous laughed quietly and crouched close to the floor.  
“Why, by executing you of course,” he declared, then bound forward to the Jedi General.   
General Yunai leaped to the right, igniting his own lightsaber in the process. Grievous stood up and faced the Jedi again.  
“You side with the newly formed government,” Yunai spoke heavily, then leaped over toward Grievous, clashing his saber with the droid General’s. “You are a traitor.”   
Grievous spun completely around before striking toward the Jedi’s wrist. The Jedi General blockaded Grievous’ hit and went up for Grievous’ abdomen, but the droid General deflected and surged forward, knocking Yunai backwards. Tightly gripping his saber, the Jedi locked his gaze into the General before Grievous aimed down for his feet. The Jedi leaped upward, rolled onto the floor, and rebounded right back up, this time distancing himself away from Grievous.   
However, the droid General saw right away what the Jedi was to do, and he bound toward the organic General with both his lightsabers twirling rapidly around him. The Jedi held his own blade in front of his chest, swishing it forward to quickly knock away Grievous’ quick-coming blows. Frustration became evident on the Jedi’s face, who was now dodging to and fro to escape from the droid General’s onslaught. He managed to find a second to escape from it and shifted off to the side, still swinging his lightsaber aggressively around. He rushed toward Grievous and swung at his body, yet the Separatist merely clashed against it or pirouetted his legs and limbs away from the blow.   
Yunai dodged Grievous’ body as he came running forward, and before the droid General could turn himself around, the Jedi began to grasp him steadily with the Force.  
Grievous felt that horribly soft yet coiling feeling of the Jedi’s symbiotic energy grasping ahold of him like tendrils. Dooku had gripped him with it several times, violently driving it against him and Ventress. It was mainly a disgusting feeling. It stripped of his power and gave his enemies the unfair advantage of knowing what he was going to do. This wield of energy was extremely powerful, but Grievous had been specifically trained to try and avoid these scenarios from happening. Like the headlights of a vehicle freezing a small rodent in the middle of a road, he had to try an avert his enemies from resorting, no, even thinking about applying their energy onto him.   
He struggled to break free. Yunai brought him back towards him, before smashing his body into a crate.   
Grievous’ cranium harshly made contact with the thick wood, bring forth a throbbing pain and an accumulating rage. As he grasped his head with his fingers, he felt the energetic fronds coming forth to claim him once again.   
The droid General roared and bound onto his feet, dodging a violent Force-push into a stack of fuel rods. He dove toward Yunai and swept his foot under to knock the Jedi onto his back. The organic General leapt up, only to be swiftly pummeled to the ground by Grievous’ metal fist.   
The Jedi fell on his stomach, and something within him cracked. The droid General picked up the sound more so than the Clone’s he had slaughtered in the central foyer, and it brought him the closest to smiling that his fractured jaw would allow him. General Yunai faintly grunted and backed away from Grievous, pointing his lightsaber at the Separatist’s mask. Grievous ignored the threat and came running over, aiming his lightsabers at the Jedi’s broken chest. Yunai coughed and jumped onto his feet once again, colliding his weapon just in time with the droid General’s.   
“I will kill you with one of those control rods if I must,” the Jedi rasped.  
Grievous pushed their interlocked blades closer to Yunai’s body.   
“How very unpacific of you, Jedi,” Grievous roused, pushing his weight into his arms. “I sense something stirring from within. You are furious.”  
“You don’t possess the Force, you know nothing!” the Jedi snapped. “You’re just projecting yourself.”  
“I don’t need to possess the Force to know,” Grievous said, keeping their blades securely dovetailed. “You know General Yunai, I didn’t think it was often a Jedi would send his men to infiltrate a ship for wealth or material gain.”  
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Yunai exclaimed. “I’m attacking because you’re supporting an autonomous government! You’re at war with us!”  
There was something about the Jedi’s voice that was tinged with a venom, something heavy and terribly warped. Grievous construed that something about Yunai was amiss, and his behavior like a…  
Yunai’s eyes widened.  
“No! I am not one of them!” the organic General hissed, reading into Grievous directly. “I am the General of this Cline armada for the sake of the gods!”  
“I don’t know if you are one of them, but you may be shifting over unconsciously.”  
General Yunai looked disgusted, squinting from the green light of their blades. “You just think that because that’s what your influenced by.”  
“I have my reasons for thinking certainly about everything, General,” Grievous susurrated.   
“Yeah? You and everybody else!”  
“Please, keep talking. It reveals a little more of yourself with each sentence.”  
“And you’re about as easy to figure out as a braindead droid! I lead this army here in an attempt to dismantle your foolish establishment. I walked miles upon miles in a desert to get here, I—"  
Grievous’ eyes glowered, bringing his mask dangerously close to the binding green light. Enough was enough. He had had his fun. “Goodbye, Dark Jedi.”   
In a flash, he pulled his top lightsabers from the interconnected blade lock, and pierced the organic General through the lining of his abdomen.  
Yunai’s eyes went wide and watery, watching as Grievous ripped his own saber out of his clenched fingers. Though his eyes didn’t shut, the last thing the Jedi saw were the audacious eyes of the droid General, unblinking and shining with victory. Seeing that the organic General had stopped moving, he tucked the Jedi’s lightsaber firmly into his belt.   
Grievous looked upon the body until he heard hundreds of more feet approaching near him, all stopping dead in place near his area.  
“General Yunai!”  
Grievous looked up and saw a whole other armada of Clone Troopers, lead by a Commander who stared in horror at his leader’s corpse.   
The General’s heart began to pound.  
The Clone Commander took one last look at the Jedi before he aimed his blaster at Grievous. “Fire at your will, men.”  
Like a crack of thunder, the armada all shot toward the General, expecting an imminent death, only to have the blasts ricocheted back at them from the General’s now ignited sabers. His limbs moved as fast as the ammunition left their cartridges, dodging and contorting until some of the Clone’s fell dead from his deflections. Some of the Troopers, like before, began to scatter throughout and try to aim from a spot he couldn’t possible see. It was pointless.   
Grievous continued with his ministrations as heard the clanking of hundreds of metal feet drumming the ground all concurrently, followed by raucous laser fire. The droids had finally arrived.  
Like on what he had briefly witnessed on the fields of Geonosis, a tension had already stirred.   
Squadrons of many classes of B1 and B2 battle droids advanced upon the Clone infantries as Droidekas rolled into the combat and positioned themselves in place. Grievous saw that the feet on many of the battle droid’s were covered in blood, which was trailing in gory footprints behind them. Two B1 Commanders stepped forth from the group, their yellow chests coated in bodily matter.  
“Fire!” One shouted, and what followed was a cacophonic boom of advanced militia weaponry being discharged at once.   
The pandemonium between the two partied that ensued was almost blinding. It escalated into such intensities that Grievous wasn’t the center of attention from the other side. He rushed over toward the droid troops and pulled one of the B1 Commanders aside, trying to mask himself in what little shadow was inside the Cargo bay.   
“What’s the status on the Clones who attempted to enter the East foyer barracks?” Grievous inquired, shouting over the loudness that condensed and resonated within the complex.   
“Status on Clone armada: terminated,” the Commander finalized.  
Grievous felt imminent relief flood through him.  
“I must check the status of the Clones who have entered the Integrated Systems Unit. I am ordering you and your brother model to Command the other battle droids while I am away.”  
“Roger, roger,” the B1 Commando affirmed, saluting the General, before making his way back into the battlefield.  
Grievous watched the happenings before him before he slipped out of the Bay and back within the central complex of the ship, where the bodies still lay. Just as he entered, a gathering of Neimoidian engineers emerged from the left, right from the Systems Unit. Though they had seen the gore already before they had entered, a couple of them gave off quiet wretches upon seeing it again.  
“G-General,” one of the engineers stammered, clearly taken back by the cyborg’s appearance.  
Grievous approached the frightened man, noticing that it was the same engineer who had warned him and Captain Dofine of the incoming infiltration. He was wielding his heavy-caliber rifle, as were the other engineers.  
“Did you catch them?” he queried, indicating the room they had emerged from.  
The engineer stared on for a moment, before quickly nodding his head. “Yes. T’ey were attempting to destroy t’e system’s main computers. We got ‘em, General.”  
Seeing this Neimoidian here seemed to mean one thing only, but Grievous decided to ask, anyways.  
“I thought you and your fellow men were supposed to be repairing the engines.”  
Though it seemed foreign for him to be doing so, the Neimoidian gave an awkward smile.  
“Captain Dofine said me and my men have repaired it sufficiently enough to blast t’is ship to Hypori once we can dispatch t’e last of t’ese sons-of-bitches.”  
“And do you, yourself inference that to be true?” Grievous asked.   
The engineer, this time, nodded assurdely. “Yes, General. More t’an so. I’m sure we could take her to Cato-Neimoidia but…” he stopped himself and simply sighed.  
“Where are the rest of your men?”  
The Neimoidian’s chest puffed. “T’ey’re on t’eir way. T’e squadrons will be here at any minute now.”  
Though it was nearly difficult, Grievous managed to slightly smile beneath his mask.  
The Clones had been greatly outnumbered.


End file.
